Strike Witches: Aces of the Deep
by ddevans
Summary: In May 1943 the Neuroi Atlantic Colony launched a devastating counterattack on the "Nereids," the witches who operate submersible strikers. A group of Nereids risks everything to defend a transatlantic convoy.
1. Prologue - Drumbeat

7 September 1939

Alec dug his hand into one of the deep pockets of his rubbery black oilskin and fished out a lighter. He found the brass device fortunately dry and tapped it against his palm for good measure. Inside the wheelhouse he was safe from the cold spray of the ocean and the pissing rain which had been plaguing them since the afternoon. Dark clouds, high winds, and rolling seas were nothing new for a seasoned fisherman like him, but that didn't mean-a point which was often lost on landlubbers-he enjoyed it. He thought: _At least the boat's mine. When I get sick of the spray I can take the wheel and have a smoke, and no one can say a damn thing._

Just as he thought these words, one of his boys entered the wheelhouse and crept up on him. The kid had just turned 16 and had an excited look on his face which spelled doom for Alec's desire to be left alone to enjoy his cigarette. The captain sighed and ran his hand over his closely cropped black beard.

"What is it, Tugs?" Alec said. That wasn't his name, but it might as well have been since they'd caught him in the grip of sin. The boy was sickly pale and his greasy black hair was parted in the middle. He was dressed similarly to Alec in a dark oilskin coat-the kind that would quickly make him invisible if he were to fall overboard at the wrong time. Alec looked out the window at the darkening sky and troubled seas and noted that it happened to be such a time, right then.

"I'll take the wheel. You've gotta get a load of this!"

Alec took a long drag on his cigarette.

"You all think you saw a 'Neroid' again? Tea leaves have a better record than you lot." Alec said. He'd been getting sick of hearing about reports of sea-monster Neuroi. Not only did he not believe them, even if he did-what was he supposed to do, give up his livelihood? "Look on the bright side: the more risks we take, the bigger our payoff."

"No, honest, you have to see this. Come on." Tugs said. Alec gestured for him to elaborate. "The boys wanted to see the look on your face. I'll say this much: we caught something that's no fish."

The captain rubbed the tip of what remained of his cigarette into a clay ashtray near the wheel. He shoved his hands into his pockets and felt a shock of cold spray hit his face as soon as he left the wheelhouse. There must be something really interesting astern, because all six men were standing there gawking instead of doing any work. At least, there had better be something interesting, or he was liable to do some shouting.

He wasn't disappointed.

Sprawled out in a bed of flopping codfish was a pale and lithe girl of about twelve, strangely pretty in death. He'd be tempted to say she was still alive, if it weren't for her stillness and lack of breathing. Her body was completely bared to them and if the circumstances were any different he would've felt very awkward. In life she'd been on the cusp of becoming a woman, a journey that had been cut unfortunately short. Her straight, shoulder-length red hair clung wetly to her freckled skin.

"A damn shame. This is what Tugs was up in arms about? Must be one of the unfortunate souls from the _Athenia_." Alec said, striding in front of the others. He was disappointed in the boy to be so buoyant at the sight of death, even as peaceful and pretty as it was here. The _SS Athenia_ had sunk several days ago, and the sea stories held that the responsible party was a new breed of underwater Neuroi. He wasn't ready to believe that, but the liner did sink and many were lost. By all appearances the girl had hung on for much longer than any castaway on the North Atlantic had a right to. He took off his Sou'wester out of respect for the departed.

"Cap'n. She's _alive_." he heard one of his men say. He looked closer at the girl and saw her chest rise and then fall. The fishermen stood agog when she opened her green eyes, pressed her palm against the cold deck, and shakily pushed herself to her feet. So great was their shock that they said nothing even as she realized where she was and did what she could to cover herself.

"Take a picture!" she cried out, blushing at her exposure. The sound of her voice stirred them out of their torpor.

"Dammit, stop gawking and get the poor girl a blanket." Alec yelled to his crew, which sent the lot of them bumbling about on the same task, running into each other in a rush to escape his wrath, "If I caught one of you lazy bums I'd throw you back!"

They soon had her warm, dry, and into some of Tugs' clothes. Even though they were a little too big for her, the girl had a tomboyish personality and wore them as if they were her own. She had been fairly pensive and mysterious about the nature of her miraculous survival, and about everything else, but Alec had high hopes she would be more talkative after she was finished with the vegetable stew she was wolfing down. She ate like an animal, dispensing with all manners, and he didn't blame her. She upended the rest of the bowl into her mouth and made a sigh of satisfaction. He could tell she wanted more, so he went over to their little stove, ladled her another bowl, and slapped it down in front of her. She got rid of that one just as fast. He gave her another and she eagerly picked it up.

"You'll get a tummy-ache, eating like that."

Though he wasn't sure why, something about his statement caused the girl to sadden. She looked down and put the rest of the soup on the table, and he at least understood it wasn't because of his warning. He decided to give it another shot.

"What's your name?"

"Jean." she said. She seemed unsure of what to say next, and Alec was surprised at what she settled on: "We need to go back."

"And why's that?"

"The Neuroi. They attacked the _Athenia_ from underwater. It's not safe out here." He gathered already from her accent that she was from Liberion, not Britannia or anywhere in Europe.

"So the story goes." Alec said. If they cut and run now, he wouldn't even break even.

"It's not a story, Mr. Powles. I was there."

Alec shook his head with regret.

"I know you've probably been through a lot, but there's no way you're from _Athenia_. No one could've survived that long. Maybe you're dazed. Your ship probably sank in the gale." Alec said. The gale wasn't too bad, but when the time came for some ships, it came. There were always rogue waves which could capsize the unwary. Whatever it was, there was no way she was from _Athenia_.

"Believe what you want." Jean said, and turned her head to the side.

"You're from Liberion?" Alec said, trying to get her talking again.

No response.

"Don't worry," Alec said, "we'll get you back safe. But if you just sit and stew it'll seem like forever, so if I were you, I'd pitch in around the boat."

Over the next two days, the girl took Alec's advice to heart. She worked as if she were being whipped by demons, and turned out to be curiously strong given her twin disadvantages of age and gender. She cleaned dishes, swabbed the deck, dusted and polished everything that was in need of it. She cooked (poorly, though they didn't have the heart to tell her), steered the boat, pulled in line, tied knots, and hauled buckets of fish around as if they were feathers. She stopped when she had to eat or sleep.

The one thing she didn't do was open up to any of them. Alec had initially suggested that she go to work as a half-jest, figuring she would do some symbolic things and call it a day. Now, however, he was waking up to the fact that she probably should be _paid_. On the eve of the third day since her rescue the boat was looking better than it did when they'd left for open water. That was opposite from the normal progression of events.

Alec stood on the planks of the stern and watched Jean clean the grime off of hard-to-reach corners on the harpoon cannon with a hand brush and a bucket of water. He looked over to Tugs, who was having a cigarette and practicing throwing his knife into a target on the cabin. They boy had aspirations of joining the Royal Navy, so he did a lot of things that he figured they did. Tough things.

"Jean, you're hired. Tugs, you're fired. Start swimming." Alec said.

"No way. I'm gonna marry her." Tugs said.

"I'm twelve. Don't you Brits have laws?" Jean called over her shoulder. Alec had noticed she'd said more in the past two hours than she had in the 70 before it. He even saw a smile flash across her face. Their little moment was interrupted by a frantic clanging of a bell from the wheelhouse. The three of them rushed up to the bow and saw a strange sight. There was a saw-edged piece of metal jutting out of the water, cutting towards them. It was inclined backwards and attached to some greater black shape that was moving straight for the boat. On the front end of this odd thing was a pair of glowing red eyes each the size of a bear.

"It's them!" Jean said. When she put one leg up on the bowsprit, Alec noticed that her red hair had changed color. Part of it was now marred by a swathe of gold. Her pale skin had also changed and had become tanned on only her dorsal side. The black-and-red creature breached the surface of the water with a shriek and let loose a pair of searing beams from its red eye-like plates. Alec imagined it was the end of him, but when those beams reached the boat they struck some white barrier that had formed in front of Jean. He pulled out his pistol, a Browning Hi-Power which he hadn't put a round through in months, and prepared to make a cursory gesture of defiance towards the monster. He'd only gotten one shot off before it was seized by Tugs.

"Alec, she's a _Witch_! Give it to _her_." Tugs yelled at him, and handed the gun to Jean. Alec didn't see that it made any difference who held it, but things were moving too quickly to argue. The girl had obviously handled a weapon before-Liberions!-and emptied the remainder of the 13-round magazine into the creature. The bobbing seas made things difficult, but her last shot shattered one of the red eyes and dissuaded the otherworldly animal from its ramming course. Jean tore her baggy clothing off and ran for the stern, grabbing Tugs' knife from the target and diving off the tail without a word. She tried to intercept the creature, but there was no way she would reach it. She simply wasn't fast enough.

"The harpoon. Get the harpoon ready!" Alec said. He and Tugs flew to the stern of the ship and swiveled the harpoon cannon around. A boom echoed across the ocean when Alec pulled the trigger and the directed explosion sent the harpoon flying off. His aim wasn't true and they sagged with disappointment when the spear flew over the sawtooth ram attached to the front.

"Dammit to hell!" Alec said. Then, in one of those fortunate miracles, when the beast drove over the rope it pulled the harpoon against the metal protrusion of the saw and hooked it on there. Jean, who had already had control of the rope, was dragged along like a water-skier who had lost her skis. She held the dagger between her teeth. Then the beast ran to the deep and dragged both harpoon and rope and the girl holding onto it under the surface. Tugs managed to find a machete in time to sever the line before the beast tore the fantail off the boat.

For the next ten minutes the entire crew of the small fishing boat stood vigil at the stern, their mood becoming ever darker and more funereal. No one said a word. Three of their number shook their heads and walked away sorrowfully.

The remainder then went into a cheer when Jean's head broke the surface of the water. She took several deep breaths, as if she'd just gone down to retrieve a coin at the bottom of a bathing pool. She still had Tugs' knife between her teeth, and the cheers became even louder when she flashed them a triumphant V-for-victory sign.

A few days later and a few thousand miles distant in an unfinished room in an unfinished building soon to be known as the Pentagon, a workman was painting in black lettering on the smoked-glass portal of a door. The outlines read: NEREID INITIATIVE. The worker stepped out of the way when a clean-cut man wearing dress blues with the double-bars of an Lieutenant opened the door. He had tucked both his cover and a file folder under one arm. On the inside there were a couple of men in white button down shirts working on an unusual Striker. Each of them looked up at the man in dress blues, who held up the file folder in triumph.

"We found another one."


	2. Chapter 1 - Jean

1 May 1943

If she overloaded the magic engines to 150% and skipped breakfast, Jean Fluckey could hold the Liberion Striker unit currently rumbling away under her about eight feet into the air. It was small potatoes to an aircraft, but her Striker was not an aircraft. Her Gato-class **S**ubmersible **S**triker, designation SS-220, was a 'Ground Effect Vehicle' when it was above water. That meant that it generated lift by pushing air against the ground. To truly fly you had to be able to generate enough lift by pushing air against air, and that ability had been traded away in order to operate underwater. As it happened, she _had_ skipped breakfast and when she ran the engines hot enough to burn, a couple precious feet were then added to her hover. It became squirrelly to control at that height, so she quickly scanned the horizon before lowering herself. The height helped with scouting. Her Gato was heavier than most Sub Strikers, but her engines made up for it.

Once she was about a foot off of the surface, she cut the engines and splashed down into the ocean. She adjusted the ballast tank on her Striker until she was just barely buoyant. The seas were quiet and the overcast sky stretched out to the unmarked horizon until it kissed the ocean. She dunked her head in the cool water and let it flow through her straight copper-colored hair. Even though she hadn't gotten much sun lately in her patrol area, her face and body was still a mess of freckles. She'd won a contest once on their number, when she was six.

To an ordinary person the water was so cold as to be lethal. The water was about 7 degrees Centigrade, but aside from her Striker she wore only a blue and white one-piece swimsuit. She was an average girl in most other ways and had turned 15 in October.

Jean was a _Nereid_, the name given to a witch who used a Submersible Striker. It had only been three years since the Neuroi Atlantic Colony had announced its existence in what humanity had dubbed the Drumbeat Incident. Defeating the Colony outright was not a possibility, since it was located in a crushing abyss thousands of feet below the surface of the ocean. Her life and the lives of the other Nereids had been a whirlwind since that day, but with a little bit of luck they had managed to keep the Atlantic Colony at bay and keep the flow of goods going into Europe.

Karlsland in particular had been at the forefront of Nereid technology and doctrine, a fact you could expect to hear if you so much as asked one of them for the time. To boot: once that was over with, you wouldn't even get the time. Jean would like to say she avoided them, but she would never get the chance to do that because they avoided her first and they were a lot better at it. Snubbing people just didn't come natural to Liberions, nor did thinking of others as inferior. Karlsland Nereids treated interactions with the other nations with the same attitude as someone who had to reach into a latrine to retrieve a wallet. Jean resented it especially, because she would have matched herself against any of them. The areas they operated in were rich with easy targets, and while, yes, they were the best, they were not the best by nearly the margin they thought.

Jean might've turned her thoughts to fresh strategies, or some other way to knock them down a peg, but she had other more important things to consider. When any three or more Nereids worked together it was known as a wolfpack, a tactic invented (of course) and perfected (debatable) by the Karlsland navy. Jean wasn't too proud to admit that they knew their stuff, and had taken much of their advice. As a result her wolfpack had been doing very well, thank you. Or it had been.

The quiet vastness she was floating in created an acute sense of loneliness in her, and a pang of awareness that her packmates were supposed to have rendezvoused here two hours ago to be picked up by a tender. Neither of these vital events had taken place. Operating in a wolfpack isn't like operating in a flying squadron. Sometimes you lost sight of your packmates for hours, simply trusting that they would do what was necessary. Karlsland doctrine used radio all the time, but Jean had seen Neuroi scatter when she broke radio silence. They were listening. The question was how well.

She changed the ballast on her Striker to lower herself into the water. It was possible they were approaching underwater, having judged the surface to be too dangerous for some reason unknown to her. There was no need to send out a ping. She closed her eyes and listened for the telltale sound of screws churning through the water, or else the clickers they used to send simple messages. She wasn't going to send one out, since she wasn't sure what was going on. As soon as she turned her attention to it, she became aware of the turning propellers of a full sized submarine. Her familiar was a dolphin, so she had no difficulty identifying the bearing and range of an approaching Type IXD-no, it wasn't an IXD. There was something different about it which made it more streamlined. From the whoosh of the screws it was running quiet on battery power at about 5 knots, and it was virtually on top of her.

She opened her eyes and, through the ever present haze of the photic zone, saw the dark mass creep into her world. She'd been so preoccupied with watching for the sub tender and her packmates that she'd let it sneak up on her. Worse-it was a Type XIV, a 'milk cow', which was a Type IXD that had been stripped of its weapons and converted into a sort of stealthy sub tender for hot zones. Karlslanders used them when they operated close to the Neuroi Colony. They needed more tenders in general, since their Strikers paid for high performance with low endurance.

Karlslanders. That was the last thing she needed right now. Having no other option, she hailed it using her handheld clicker. It seemed unlikely to run across a milk cow in the middle of the ocean, so it must be here to pick her up. If the sub tender had some kind of ordinary problem, Liberion would have had time to arrange an alternate. It smacked of a last-minute solution. As to why it was silent running, that really worried her. If there was something up there, or down here, to be afraid of, she hadn't perceived it. But they had.

The blast of the main ballast tanks blowing startled her to the extent that she switched the drive to mana battery source and initiated a powered ascent. Water cascaded off of her as she burst out of it, and switched to ground-effect when her propellers cleared the water. A lurch signaled the RPMs shooting way up, enough to hover. The transition from water to ground-effect tended to trip up new Nereids, but it was second nature to her by then. It took another minute for the shallow running milk cow to surface, but eventually she cleared the water. There were a series of six circular hatches were the deck gun would have been. She made for the conning tower, figuring they wanted her out of her Striker as soon as possible so they could dive before whatever they were so touchy about caught up with them.

Jean was therefore surprised when she saw one of the heavy hatches slowly pivot open. Fifteen seconds passed, which under the circumstances was starting to feel like a very long time, and there was a high roar of engine noise from inside the elevator shaft.

A girl running a Type VIIB Striker burst out of the portal leading into the depths of the sub. She was a strawberry blonde Karlslander with a lush mane of long wavy hair, and came out so fast she exceeded the ground effect zone, even for a Type VIIB, and used her momentum to arc over to where Jean was idling. She gunned the engines briefly when she got close to the water so as not to drop into the ocean with the extra momentum. Her lighter Striker responded with a touch of acceleration and deftly settled the girl in handshake distance. Jean tried, and failed, not to look impressed by the precision of the maneuver. Jumping out of ground effect was what normally preceded a crash dive-a high speed face-first marriage with the sea. To jump out of GE and then land exactly where you wanted to took talent. Not that Jean couldn't do exactly the same thing, even with the handicap of a heavier Striker. She just chose not to!

Annoyingly, in addition to being a fine submariner, the Karlslander was also exceptionally beautiful in a dreamy, doll-like way, and her swimsuit was a little more bulbous in the right places. She was a couple inches shorter than Jean's own 5'6'' and her Striker was also shorter in length. In Jean's experience with Karlslanders, if they were shorter than you, they just flew a bit higher until that wasn't the case. Trying to one up them in this respect was a recipe for comedy. Or it would be if Karlslanders ever laughed. From the looks of it the girl had compensated for the shorter Striker she was using, rather than assuming a superior position, and then extended a hand to Jean. Her eyes were a deep blue, full of intelligence and oddly gentle for her kind. Jean let out a sniff, realizing she had inadvertently reversed the roles Karlslanders and Liberions usually assumed on meeting each other. This time she was the stick in the mud, the one with all the baggage. The shame of this thought crept up on her and made her blush, and then, the act of blushing made her blush more. It was a negative feedback loop.

"Eva Schultze." the girl said with a barely concealed smile, and Jean took her hand and gave it a shake. It was firm yet uncompetitive. She took another look at the girl's uniform-her one piece suit bore the colors of Karlsland, in a muted way.

"I'm-" Jean started.

"Lt. Jean Fluckey. 'Lucky' Fluckey, yes?" the girl said, a gentle raise of her eyebrows to denote a polite amount of uncertainty. Even though she was sure. Karlslanders never embroidered their sentiments like that. Maybe the girl was a Gallian transfer.

"How did you know my name?"

"All the Karlsland Nereids know your name. We were issued a special bulletin on your action off Gallia."

Jean puffed herself up a bit and put her hands on her hips, smiling with the sort of self-aware smugness that her fellow Liberions would understand was an invitation to insult her, in order to maintain the sense of equality between them. Eva paused for a moment and smiled serenely, taking it in.

"As an example of what not to do." Eva said. Jean couldn't help but smile widely-a Karlslander who understood Liberions? With effort she managed to quash the burgeoning feeling of warmth in her chest. Eva was just another Nereid. She would be dead soon, or else Jean would be dead soon. Just like that her face went stony and she cleared her throat. It wasn't like it meant anything. She had just been alone for a while. Eva remained pleasant and open, and leaned in curiously to ask, with only her body language, whether she'd offended.

"Sorry. My packmates are missing." Jean assured her, "I'm just not in a good mood."

She tried to shut everything about them out of her just then, but a thought still leaked through: Briskie had made a roast and potatoes for Easter, and spoke of her desire to become a good cook. Sometimes it didn't matter if you kept someone at arms length-their humanity would permeate through you. She finally steadied herself with the thought that they could still be alive.

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you do it? In Gallia. You're the only Nereid to engage a land-based Neuroi."

Jean scratched her nose and reflected on how to answer this.

"I ran out of targets."

Eva closed her eyes and exhaled, and drifted a couple inches away from Jean. It was a gentle admonishment, the gentlest she'd ever gotten from her type. The girl was a Karlslander after all-bound up with rules and doctrines. Nereids were not to engage land Neuroi because Nereids were an asset to be expended in a specific way. The supply of witches with aquatic familiars being significantly less than otherwise, it was foolish to engage a Neuroi on land. There were other people who did that, better equipped and more easily replaced.

"If we're going to work together, I need to be able to trust that you won't do anything rash. You were slowly building a reputation for it even before the Gallia incident." Eva said.

"Dollface," Jean said, "You're awfully picky for someone with no options in sight. If you want to go to a dance, I'll certainly take you. If you don't, I could trouble you and the milk cow for a ride."

Eva smiled and raised her eyebrows at being called out like that, evidently finding it charming. There was something aristocratic about her, Jean decided.

"Where's your weapon?" Eva said, looking over Jean. Her torpedoes were long gone, and she'd tossed the Oerlikon after she ran through the ammo. She pulled out the LS Navy Utility Knife, Mk1 from an integrated sheathe in one of her Striker legs. Or as it was more popularly known: a Ka-Bar. Underwater encounters with Neuroi came down to melee range fairly often. Supercavitating bullets could travel a short distance and they had been developed for the Oerlikon, but by the time you were close enough to use them you might as well just stab the thing. Since they performed more poorly above water, Jean kept her ammo load conventional.

"That won't do."

"It won't? What if I told you I had two of them?" Jean said, tapping the other leg and pulling out the second knife. A backup, in case the first broke. Or the person who designed the Striker designed one leg, mirrored it, and went golfing. Eva narrowed her eyes, at least understanding it was a joke.

"...we'll get you a Flak 38." she said. Jean thought of the weapon as the inferior of the Oerlikon 20mm she was used to, but it was decidedly superior to a _knife_. The Gallians, Romangnas, and Fusos often harbored romantic notions of melee combat. Jean had none of these. She thought of herself on borrowed time from the moment she heard the report of the last bullet leaving the chamber.

"So what's the trouble?"

"Do you know anything of what's going on? Can't you use magic?" Eva said, seeming incredulous. Though it was unsaid, the specific type of magic Eva was referring to was the radio variety. Knowledge of it was de-rigeur for Nereids. It was one of the reasons training one was expensive. Jean shook her head.

"I can do it, but Liberion magic in that area has a little flaw. Even if I'm just receiving, I can be direction-found. It's called a superheterodyne beat. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I don't receive without good cause. They say they're going to fix it before my next patrol, but you know how that is. They're always saying things."

Eva took in a great breath through her nostrils. This was the part where 99% of Karlslanders would rail on about how Liberions were morons who couldn't engineer their way out of a grocery bag. Eva didn't. In fact, she seemed relieved.

"That's why you're still alive."

"Come again?"

"The current idea is that the Neuroi have developed a new kind of high speed direction-finding. Not even short messages are safe anymore. What's worse is that this ability is part of a new class of Neuroi, a _hunter-killer_, which specifically pursues Nereids. When you started your patrol three days ago, there were 36 of us on station."

"And now?"

"_20_."


	3. Chapter 2 - Eva

They were soon skimming over the ocean surface at full speed in ground effect. Jean's packmates had heretofore all been Gato-class like herself, so she was for the first time becoming acquainted with the differences between her Striker and a Karlsland Type VIIB. While in some ways they were exactly as anticipated, the experience of it was different. The design speed of a Gato in GE was 210 knots. Jean had clocked 235 knots once in an extremely desperate circumstance, an event she could not relate to anyone else without their classing it as a fisherman's story. Eva's Sub Striker by contrast was full throttle, supercharger engaged, at a stately 180 knots. Maintaining station abreast of her at this lower speed was requiring more concentrated effort than she wanted to admit. Eva seemed to notice this, but didn't comment on it.

"I'm keeping this. It's mine now." Jean called to her new temporary packmate, holding up the Flak 38 2cm triumphantly. It would make a fine showing back at her pen. Eva took a deep breath and exhibited a degree of self control that Jean had not yet seen in her kind.

"It is not yours. It belongs to the military of Karlsland."

"_You're_ the military of Karlsland. Are you going to take it from me?"

"Of course. After we've defeated the enemy. You know, someone worked hard to make that gun-one of my countrymen. Now the Neuroi are eating all the metal in our mines. I'll see to it that he didn't labor with his precious material so a Liberion could hang a prize on a mantle."

"Oh," Jean said, wrinkling her nose up and feeling like a real heel, "You're serious."

Eva nodded at her with an amiable smile. Shamed thusly, Jean no longer wanted the weapon, but she did sort of want to get beaten up by a Karlslander over such a trivial issue. What a story that would make. She probably wouldn't hurt a person like Eva, but she'd put up enough resistance to make a tussle of it.

"Liberion is an untouched land of wealth. I know you don't understand." Eva said.

"Hey, don't go making assumptions. Dollars don't grow on trees."

"Evidently Oerlikons do. I've never tossed a weapon, no matter how burdensome it became to me. In Orussia they say that some men have to wait for the one in front of them to fall to retrieve theirs."

Jean cleared her throat and prepared to defend herself.

"My patrols are longer."

"I know. Gato Striker endurance is significant, and your patrol areas are larger. But the one you just did was three days-that's not so bad. I've done that many times. And yet." Eva gestured to Jean's borrowed gun.

"...you get used to tossing them." Jean said, and looked away in her shame, which was accented by the fact that she'd been upbraided for that very thing by her own commanders. _Even for a Liberion_, she was cavalier about materiel. A searing indictment. She was startled by Eva's comforting hand on her shoulder. When she met the Karlslander's blue eyes, they were soft and reassuring.

"You're not a bad person, Jean. We come from different circumstances." Eva said, and receded back into her station a few feet away. The place on Jean's shoulder where she put her hand had a lingering burning to it. She hadn't been touched for days. "I'm saying this so you can understand how important your convoys are. If the Neuroi take the upper hand here, in the Atlantic... it's all lost. Our workmen will not have tools. Our soldiers will not have arms. My people will starve without food and die without medicine."

Jean clutched the weapon against her chest and stared ahead. Occasionally her dreary world of boredom and violence was pierced by a message from the realm of the living. As these missives had before, it would echo in her head for a time, and then mercifully fade. That was for the best too. When people said things like that, it made her want to live too much. If she wanted to live too much she wouldn't be able to do what was necessary.

"Eva, how long have you been a Nereid?" Jean asked. It couldn't be long.

"Since Drumbeat." Eva said. Longer than herself, by nearly a year. Vanishingly few Nereids had been trained as of Drumbeat. Jean's arc was more typical: she joined _because_ of Drumbeat. That meant Eva was in the vanguard, and her senior.

"How many-"

"158."

An _Ace_. A bonafide Karlsland Ace! No petty 'low 100' Ace, either. Jean looked over to Eva in shock. The girl wore a proud smile. Jean had met a couple of the fabled Deep Aces of Karlsland before, but she never-not in a thousand years-would have pegged Eva for one. She _thought_ she'd seen the girl's name before, but the cognitive dissonance was too great to make the connection.

"90, here." Jean said, unaccountably insecure about it. Karlsland called anyone over 100 an Ace, and by this measure they had more Aces among their own Nereids than from any other nations combined, by a factor of two or three. Little wonder they considered themselves the best. Liberion didn't use the Ace system, since it would be demoralizing in the waters they operated in. Other nations had it even worse with their own hunting grounds, and weren't able to even get close. Jean still wanted a hundred, more than anything. Karlsland would put other Nereids on their Aces of the Deep list for reference purposes, even though no medals were awarded. She wanted on that list even though, by Liberion standards, she was already in rare air. Even though she was not, on the whole, impressed with the Karlsland Aces-possibly excepting the one she'd just met. Outside their cloud cuckoo land over the Colony and ahead of the convoys, it took a load of creativity to even get close to 100.

"89." Eva amended. Karlsland had a record of her accomplishments, and summarily struck the ill gotten Land Neuroi from the record. Jean grumbled, becoming accustomed to the ways Eva was and wasn't a typical Karlslander. She was every bit the stickler they all were, she just wasn't _mean_ about it.

"10, 11. What's the difference?" she muttered.

"One." Eva returned immediately, her eyebrows up with feigned innocence. A little jest against her own national stereotype as a people who took things literally.

"Dollface, we better focus on the task ahead." Jean said. It was not because Jean wanted to focus on the mission that she said this-although that was the prudent thing to do, so of course Eva would assent. The reason she said it was because Eva had already assumed, in her brief time in Jean's experience, the throne of Hope. She was the Ace with bright eyes, the proof that not all Nereids gave up their humanity. Hope was dangerous. The only thing left was to keep her from taking the throne of Love, which was the most dangerous thing of all. To have one's hopes dashed-Jean could endure _that_. No more.

"Alright. My nickname, if you insist on one, is _Vaddi_."

"Oh yeah? What's that mean?"

Eva's eyes only twinkled as she left the question unanswered, and performed a little aileron roll in GE in lieu of an answer. After this interlude she faced her eyes forward and assumed the stern visage of Karlsland, as if she were born to it. Which she was. Jean respected someone who could ignore her. Ignoring people had a lot going for it. She liked the sound of the name enough to use it. Since Eva's attention was fixed forward, Jean took it upon herself to focus attention rearward.

Eva's backside was a perfect gem, just as she'd anticipated. A _bombshell_. Jean bit her tongue, hotly jealous, and heroically resisted an overpowering desire to slap an open palm down on the poor girl's left cheek. The only thing preventing her from this was the fact that Eva seemed to regard the situation as somewhat urgent and Jean didn't want to get on her bad side. Although... she'd seen the girl from both sides, now, and she didn't have a bad side. When Jean looked up she saw Eva looking over her shoulder, a look of annoyance on her face.

"Vaddi," Jean said, and the nickname caused Eva's annoyance to melt away, "Are we going after one of those Hunter-Killers?"

Eva returned her eyes forward and gestured for the Liberion to catch up with her.

"We'll be joining the defense of ONS.5. When I brought the milk cow down I was-I was hoping there would be more of you." Eva said, a note of regret in her voice.

"When Clark and 'Briskie make it back to the milk cow, I'm sure they'll hurry up to join us. Sometimes Briskie has trouble with her engines. Clark was pretty good at fixing things like that, so they were always close. They'll be along." Jean said. She and Eva exchanged a long, blank look. Eva eventually gave her a nod. They flew on in silence for a while. Soon Convoy ONS.5 climbed into view, a line of ants crawling across the horizon, some of them spouting columns of black smoke that Jean had spotted even before they were in view. All was not well.

"We're both Lieutenants, Vaddi. If there is going to be trouble, one of us has to take command of this impromptu joint wolfpack."

"Naturally-" Eva started, a statement that was obviously going to end with 'that would be me.' Jean cut her off.

"We'll play rock, paper, scissors for it." Jean said, balling her fist and looking at Eva, "On three. One, two, three!"

A bewildered Eva took up the challenge and threw scissors. This was easily beaten by Jean's almighty rock. Karlslanders had an aggressive reputation, so they were natural rock throwers. Eva, however, knew this, and was smart, and would anticipate that Jean would try to counter a Karlslander opening. Jean had taken her by surprise and forced a quick throw so she wouldn't engage in any second-level thinking, during which she might realize that Jean would probably understand that Eva would attempt to subvert a natural Karlslander opening. And so on, until the outcome was chaotic again.

"Oh, that is the worst junk. I am not subordinating myself to a crazy Liberion over a match of rock paper scissors." Eva intoned. Jean suspected this was the harshest way she could phrase this opinion.

"You played, didn't you?"

"You surprised me!"

"Okay." Jean said, "I'll compromise. Best two out of three."

An unsure Eva took up the challenge as the convoy quickly rose into view, to which she cast the occasional nervous glance. Jean easily won the rematch, and Eva began to throw continuously out of frustration. Jean did not lose a single throw until the 9th, and she won the 10th. Eva gave up at 12, leaving the record: 11 to 12. Eva looked positively shell shocked at the outcome.

"Mein gott! Isn't it a random game? Did you use _magic_? How did you do that?"

"I'll answer your questions in order: no, no, and finally: I'm not telling."

Rock paper scissors was a competitive sport at her pen, and their mastery of the simple game had revealed rich veins of strategy which pivoted on understanding the human element. Jean had learned that people and Neuroi were not random creatures. They had behaviors that could be exploited. The purity of the game revealed that to her, in the way a scientific experiment strips away everything but what you're looking for. The practice made her wolfpacks more effective, since, in addition to leading to the vital realization Jean had made, it put them in the mind that thinking strategically was something anyone could do. It wasn't just for admirals and grandmasters.

Eva clearly wasn't ready to fall in line over a such a dumb demonstration of RPS prowess, but that wasn't the point of the matter. The point that needed getting across was that she wasn't an idiot. That had been done. Jean rolled in closer.

"Vaddi, if we danced, wouldn't you give me the lead?"

"Yes, because you're taller, and... I don't see what that has to do with _anything_."

"_Darf ich bitten_?" Jean said, hoping she got it right. Loosely: _Shall we dance? _Eva's long pause made her nervous-either she was thinking about it, or Jean had mangled the simple phrase to the extent it was misunderstood.

"...Alright." Eva said, finally.

Even Jean was paying the convoy her full attention now, hoping to spot the source of the trouble. It might very well be invisible yet. The individual classes of the ships and their number were now becoming apparent to her.

"So what's your deal?" she yelled to Eva, who looked confused. This was the standard Liberion way of inquiring into the abilities of a new packmate. Some Nereids were 'missing' some vital feature and had to be handled specially, and others could contrariwise perform amazing feats. "Your _magic!_"

"Ah, that. I can see through underwater haze, in addition to the normal things. You?" she said simply, as if it were not amazing. It explained a lot about her status as a super-Ace.

"Just the basics here." Jean said in kind. Nothing to be ashamed of there. When it came to surviving the cruel sea, the 'basics' were extensive.

Nereids were similar to Night Witches in their need to use military spellcraft. They needed to be able to send and receive radio signals-these abilities could be taught. They had other abilities which typically rode in on their familiar, like being able to function for hours underwater without surfacing or the ability to reckon the location of objects with careful hearing. Jean was part of the rank-and-file who couldn't do anything really special.

"What about your incredible luck?" Eva says, referring to Jean's nickname, 'Lucky' Fluckey, "Maybe your power alters the laws of probability in your favor."

"Can magic do something like that?" Jean said, dubious.

"How would I know?"

"Karlslanders know everything. That's what I've heard."-this said with a lopsided grin towards Eva, who returned a sidelong glance for the trouble. "Do you know if any macs or broomsticks are going to be with us?"

"I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're saying. Maybe my Britannian is rusty."

Jean didn't know how to tell Eva that her Britannian, which she'd obviously learned in Britannia, was probably better than Jean's own. So she didn't. She did, however, reiterate in Standard Britannian that she wanted to know if Eva knew if there were any Strike Witches ("broomsticks") operating from Merchant Aircraft Carriers in the area. _Broomstick_ had a dual connotation in Liberion circles which she didn't have time to relate to Eva. Originally it had simply been a derogatory epithet that applied to all Strike Witches, the glamorous doyennes of the Neuroi War with whom the Nereids had an uneasy relationship. They thought the Strike Witches were, on the whole, stuck-up glory hounds. The Strike Witches thought of the Nereids as an underhanded lot of low character. As is often the case in interservice rivalries, both sides had something of a point amid the exaggerations.

Lately, though, the Nereids had been forced to admit that some of them were the good ones: the Strike Witches who operated from Merchant Aircraft Carriers had by and large the same lot the Nereids did in life. They were in the same boat, sometimes quite literally.

"There are no merchant carriers-it's a low priority convoy. They might have an expendable hurricane." Eva said. Regardless of their particular Striker, "Expendable Hurricane" was another grim nickname for the Witches who got catapulted off of certain merchant ships for the purposes of a token defense.

Jean scanned the horizon carefully-not a thing in sight.

"Time to put those baby blue eyes of yours to the test. Dive dive dive!" she called to Eva. The Karlslander nodded without a word of objection and vaulted up into the air in a graceful arc, hitting the surface of a small swell and smacking into it with a white splash. The harsh impact sound elicited a wince of sympathy from Jean. The crash dive maneuver, which would be instant death to a normal person, was still extremely painful. Like getting clapped on both cheeks by a heavyweight boxer. Eva had disappeared below the waves, slicing into the deep like a knife. Jean could still see her dark shape skimming below the waves. Their underwater speed was generally slightly less than half, or about 80 knots in Eva's case. Blistering for an underwater craft. Jean cut her speed to something more reasonable and performed a similar action, and still felt a little bit like she'd just been decked by Neptune. Easily her least favorite thing about the job, next to taking shots from Neuroi.

She switched to battery power, enjoying the peaceful hum compared to the cacophonous magic engine. Eva caught up with her shortly-they stuck close enough to the surface to see the little ridges the wind etched into the larger waves. There was plenty to say at the moment, and would be plenty to say in the near future, but the water silenced them both. They had two ways of carrying on a dialog from there. They could send the most basic of commands with a high-lo clicker, which used a special compact morse language that had been dubbed _ticktock_. At visual range sign language was the preferred medium. Since both languages were constructed and had such a limited vocabulary, Eva was spared the opaque Liberionisms that sprinkled Jean's speech.

"Two Neuroi of type Manta-class. Five kilometers away at 40 degrees. One Nereid of Type B1." Eva's blistering speed with sign turned Jean's head, but fortunately she caught all of it and was spared the embarrassment of asking for a repetition. It was probably some kind of little test-there was no way she did it that fast all the time. Junior packmates would never get it. Jean didn't know what a 'Type B1' Striker was, either, since she'd never encountered one, but it was enough for her to know that it was friendly.

"Affirmative. Descend to 90m, course 0 degrees at best speed. Await my signal!" Jean signed back, to Eva's confusion, and blew the ballast tanks on her Striker before she could sign back any objections. Jean burst through the water surface and switched off battery for a sprint into attack position, a time she used to make a few simple calculations. Nothing too brainy-time, velocity, distance. She got a little wrapped up in it and almost smacked into a wave-flying in GE required concentration. She got into the position she wanted and saw, unfortunately, the wake bubbles of a Neuroi torpedo speeding towards one of the cargo ships. A few bursts of the Flak 2cm proved ineffective from above the surface.

Cursing to herself, she grabbed hold of her Ka-Bar and performed the hated full-speed crash dive, which would probably net her a couple of black eyes. She flooded the tanks and intercepted the torpedo, a dumb weapon which simply churned away when she latched onto it. The red and black device was much too large to get her arms around, but had a few places for her to grab. It was powered by an engine which took in water in the front and spat it out the back. Jean had a simple expedient for dealing with them, which was to take her knife and drive it into the ballast tank. A hiss of bubbles indicated that she'd succeeded at this, and then she consigned the thing to the deep with a little shove from the top. It would sink and pass under the ship's hull.

Her schedule for her little plan was all messed up now-which happened frequently. The only problem was that she was mated with a Karlslander, who, in addition to not being familiar with Jean's way of doing things, hailed from a people who took plans very seriously. She spun around and maxed out her poor little battery drive, listening for the Nereid who was in the Type B1 Striker. On finding her she got on an intercept course and churned over at best speed.

What Jean saw from the back appeared to be one of the largest Nereids she'd ever seen, operating one of the largest Strikers she'd ever seen. There in the haze was a tall and fully developed woman in a dark blue swimsuit with an odd cut to it. Rather than arcing up around the thighs like normal, it continued straight, giving the impression of someone who had draped a skintight, identically colored shirt over their suit. The voluptuous girl had luxuriously long black hair and was conspicuously gifted in the way that made her breasts visible even from the back. The biggest shock came when she turned around to look at Jean and gave a bright smile, revealing herself as a Fuso. She'd never met a Fuso with quite so much... everything. Her countershading, the odd tanlines that every Nereid got when their familiars manifested, was darker than normal. Maybe a killer whale familiar, which Jean had seen a handful of times. Jean and Eva's countershading, which were respectively that of spotted and striped dolphins, was not nearly as pronounced a variation of pale and tan.

Jean gave her a simple command in sign, there being absolutely no time to explain anything or make introductions. She also repeated it in ticktock afterwards.

"Charge! Attack! Use Everything!" Jean said, a command to which the Fuso responded with a wild smile and a doubling-up of V-signs.

They split up to bracket the incoming enemies, while keeping each other in sight distance. The Neuroi Mantas, which were enormous and looked exactly as one would expect, loomed into view and each fired off a brace of supercavitating explosive rounds which screamed through the water at the pair of them. They were much faster and smaller than the torpedoes used against the convoy, operating on a similar principle to a shotgun. Once you got close enough, they could hit you. Jean could count on one hand the number of Nereids who had survived a second salvo from this weapon. There was no avoiding them, and both Jean and the Fuso girl were pounded by a few shattering explosions, whose force had a depressing way of arcing around a magic shield as it transmitted through the water and battering the one behind it, even if perfectly blocked. The Fuso brought the Hammer part of the attack, and her Striker loosed a couple of torpedoes that were bigger and faster than anything Jean had ever seen from a Western Nereid. Unfortunately, she herself had no Anvil to complement the attack with, since her last true resupply was days ago. The Mantas turned into them, and it looked like it would be an easy matter for them to thread between them. Jean was starting to feel her plans becoming unglued-a feeling she'd had before.

The Fuso girl had elan to spare, however, and didn't seem to be at all put off by Jean's failure to hold up her end of the attack. She allowed the Mantas to think they had dodged the issue, and then the girl raised a hand and gestured at each of them in turn. The torpedoes changed course and impacted into the pair, twin explosions that pushed against Jean twice in the span of a half second. Torpedo guiding magic! The Mantas shrieked, and perhaps weren't even aware of it when Eva emerged undetected from the depths below and was allowed all the time she needed to carefully line up two salvos on each of them. Four of Eva's fish swam up from the deep and drove themselves into the menaces, which dissolved as they sank into the inky black.


	4. Chapter 3 - Miki

A couple of men in civilian clothes were now strapping a pair of worrisome-looking tubes to Kitty's Striker, which was running at high idle atop a steel launching rail called a catapult. If she had known that her poor test scores were going to lead to the situation she found herself in, she would have applied herself much more strenuously. Since she flew a catapult-launched Sea Hurricane ("Hurricat") and her familiar was a British Shorthair, there was no resisting the nickname. She got the sense that they didn't want to know her real name anyway.

"Oi! Oi. Wots _this_ all a sudd'n!" Kitty cried out nervously, her wide, pale-blue eyes skating over the rocket. She'd never actually been launched from a catapult. The time for asking questions, and raising very reasonable objections regarding the methods involved, had however already passed. She could've stood to pay more attention in training. Then again, if she _had_ done that, she wouldn't _be_ here. That was a hell of a catch.

"Wot do ya _fink_, kitt'n? Fought we were gonna smack yer arse 'n off you go?" one of the men called back. A pasty, dark-haired civilian in his mid 40s and the sort of eternally pissy working class Brit that Kitty had been putting up with her whole life. Her face at that moment most have spoken volumes, because both of them descended into fits of laughter. CAM ships-catapult aircraft merchant ships-were not staffed by the fine men of the Royal Navy. They were full of the same gormless lot she could scrape off any given street corner in her native Cheapside. So much for seeing the world.

"Bloody 'ell! Get me down from 'ere! This witch stuff is _rubbish_!" Kitty wailed back at them. They transparently pretended not to hear her over the noise of her engines, pointing to their ears and feigning confusion and regret. They gave her a thumbs up and hustled away from the catapult, the one behind shoving the other forward in a rush to escape the weird boosters they had attached to the Hurricat and the now pissed off Witch they were about to send off.

Even if everything went perfectly with the rockets, she was eventually to 'ditch' her Striker in the ocean, which was _probably_ safe, where she would be picked up-_maybe_-by another ship in the convoy. Kitty screwed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, expecting it all to kick off any moment. Another half minute passed, enough time for her nervousness to taper. She cracked a careful eye, allowing herself to think that the launch was a dud, and was then taken by surprise when the rockets lit off and the end of the ramp came surging towards her with a tremendous wallop of g-force. A rushing wind blew her pillow of frizzy ginger hair back as her scream of tear-filled terror rang out across the convoy.

Shortly after clearing the catapult, the rocket affixed to her right unit developed a mechanical issue which compromised the ability of the explosion to remain controlled and pointed in a useful direction. Kitty's forcible education on this point blew the Hurricane Striker unit to several hundred individual pieces in an instant, and would have done the same to her if it were not for her strong shield, her only real good point as a Strike Witch. The last thing she was conscious of of was a world-record high velocity belly-flop into the Atlantic.

#

Contemporaneous with this event, a recently formed multinational wolfpack had been enjoying a quiet post-victory moment over two Manta-class. They were tough opponents as Neuroi went and there would probably be some horse-trading going on between the Fuso and the Karlslander over how to divide up the Tonnage. It was properly divided by half between them, but Jean had seen some strong-willed veterans overwhelm new fish with flimsy arguments regarding first hits, last hits, overall damage, number of hits-and so on. Either way, a Manta was worth about 4000 GRT, and she anticipated the Fuso was likely hungrier on the point. Their hunting grounds were paltry and Jean saw their doctrines as a distant second to their technology.

Proper introductions were delayed by a splash which was close enough to be audible, which made the preceding scream now relevant to them. People screamed all the time, but when they screamed and fell into the drink it became something actionable. All of them, currently submerged and on battery power, traded a glance and rushed towards to the source to see a dark outline falling helplessly into the depths.

"Nereid. 1 kilometer. Bearing 50. Descending. May be disabled." Jean signed.

"Negative. Contact is a downed Witch... stand by. Another contact! Neuroi." Eva returned, still running deeper than Jean and the Fuso, who were abreast of each other. The Fuso was back a bit, watching for Jean's movements. She'd had no pretensions to command, probably because it wasn't her ocean.

There was a pause that Jean did not like the feeling of at all. She wondered: was it the spoken-of Hunter-Killer, the end of her?

"Q-class. Deep water. Ascending fast. Same bearing."

An opportunistic hunter pouncing from the deep. Q-class were another sort that Jean had encountered before. The necessity of speed in the intercept put her out front at a bit over 90 knots. This was where her heavy striker and slim body came out on top. Eva and the Fuso began to fall behind.

"I'm attacking at best speed. Karlsland with me. Fuso is flyfisher." Jean signed. Her course diverged with the Fuso's, who immediately swam upwards to retrieve the drowning Witch. The girl could take orders like nobody's business. When she reached the mark, Jean activated her express tank, a Liberion technological work which enabled her Gato to dive at speeds which a larger Striker should not be able to achieve. Jean often thought of the Gato as a perfect blend of qualities-there were a couple of things she was first rate at, like endurance and speed, and no fatal weaknesses. She wasn't the best at every role, but she could show up for whatever was called for and, in her world, what was called for was always changing. Right now, in fact, was an example of that-a Type VIIB at the end of a three day patrol would have had to decline the invitation to battle. Yet here she was, out front and hell-for-leather. She loved her SS.

She shot a grin at Eva over her shoulder, who only lidded her eyes in response, accompanied by an unusually warm, comfortable smile. She'd lost out to Jean during the sprint and probably expected to overtake her in the dive, but-while she'd been faster-it wasn't quite fast enough. Now she was losing position again. Direct intercept was not possible, since you always had to attack Q-class from a specific angle.

If they had been green the Q-class now emerging from the ocean dark would be cause for terror. That was what it had going for it-a Neuroi which took the form of the Giant Squid, the fabled sea monster of old. Q-class modus operandi was to wait silent in deep water, below a thermocline, and attack when an opportunity presented. The Q-class spread out its arms and readied its tentacles into attack position. It had a specific attack pattern which Jean had long ago internalized, thanks in part to RPS. After she began to notice patterns in humans, noticing them in Neuroi became child's play. The Q's red beak was lighter on the bottom than the top, and it would also assume a Nereid would dodge upward.

A good assumption, given that Nereids were shallow-water creatures and it was a deep one. Shallow-water creatures would seek safety upwards, since that was their home. This assumption was simple on the face of it, but in Jean's experience it was true: Nereids _did_ dodge to shallow water. Another wrinkle: if you performed a downward dodge, it would assume you would do that next time. It was possible to keep bouncing it between these two states. Yet another: if you bounced it a couple times, it would counter-bounce. So you had to counter-counter then. The last one was usually rendered unnecessary by speed. Random behavior was rare, but possible, as in all Neuroi. It would attempt to take hold of a Nereid with its suction-cup equipped arms, hold her in place, and burn through her shields at close range with the lasers in the pads of its tentacles. A terrifying way to go. Jean had the misfortune of seeing it in action.

Using her knowledge of the likely pattern, Jean threaded through the grasping tentacles. Some of them were overzealous and got shredded by her propellers as she passed-served it right! She heard a thump over her shoulder and saw, to her dismay, that the thing had taken hold of Eva in what she immediately recognized as one of the rare random-acts from a Neuroi. It wasted no time bringing down its tentacles on the girl and loosing the searing red lasers on her at point blank range, which caused the water to boil as they transited. A white shield protected her from the onslaught-for the moment. Jean's heartbeat picked up with the force of successive hammer blows, and her shaking hands took hold of the creature's red-keratin beak. It was sealed tight, and she jammed her knife in the seam and pried it apart. Her muscles, powered by every ounce of magical strength she could summon up, pried the pair of them apart to expose the shining red buckyball that was the core.

A shower of supercavitating bullets sailed uncomfortably past her neck and pierced the core, shattering it into a thousand white shards. The creature began to dissolve away, just as the Mantas had. Eva winked at her, taking her finger off the Flak 2cm, and Jean gave her a sour look for stealing the kill.

By the time Jean and Eva surfaced and lit their Strikers' engines again, the Fuso girl was already attempting to pass her fallen charge off to the crew of the CAM ship. With a burst of speed and a little 'kya' of effort, she managed to get the downed Witch clear of the freeboard and pass her off to a party of five or six men in civilian clothing. Jean noted with a sort of grim hilarity that more of their attention was devoted to the other thing the Fuso was offering up: a deep well of cleavage. The distracting effect of the Fuso's gifts caused them to fumble the first hand-off, necessitating that the she give it another shot. She appeared oblivious to this attention and gave them a happy wave before flying off. Jean was about to castigate them for standing around watching the view from the other side rather than rendering the poor Hurricat girl immediate medical attention. She breathed a sigh of relief when the wet cat in question was apparently awake and, on arriving on deck, took up a blistering round of invective against her own crew in a thick and salty low-class dialect that Jean barely understood. She did get: "Oh I 'ate the wa'er! It's 'orrible!"

The tall, round-faced Fuso girl halted a few paces away from Jean. The way she moved with her huge Striker and her huge Bristols-Jean had learned this slang only moments ago from the Hurricat's shouting-could be charitably described as _thoughtful_, and, less charitably, as _ponderous_. Her swimsuit had a name written in hiragana on a white tag that stretched all the way across the bounty of her heaving chest: Hashimoto. Jean took a while to read it, appreciating the curve of every black letter, until she got a stealthy jab from Eva.

"That's one way to get people to remember your name." Jean said.

"Isn't it?" Hashimoto said with a toothy smile, probably innocent of what Jean was actually saying. She gave a sharp and narrow salute. "Miki Hashimoto, Sub-Lieutenant, reporting for duty."

Jean returned the salute and introduced herself. Eva floated forward and did the same. Miki gave them a devilish look.

"Do you two like my torpedoes? They're the pride of Fuso!"

Jean nearly choked and, blushing deeply, covered her eyes and turned her head away. At Miki's confused look, Eva floated forward to answer.

"They _are_ amazing, Miki. I thought Karlsland torpedoes were matchless, but I've never seen anything like _yours_." Eva said with what, to Jean's ear, sounded like mischief.

Miki held up a finger to accentuate her point, overflowing with pride.

"The difference is the oxygen fuel. My torpedoes are also bigger than anyone else's. Of course, they require careful handling... Jean, why are you looking away?"

"Nothing! I'm... _scouting_." Jean said, and brought up her SJ Radar to take her mind off Miki's torpedoes. A thick stroke of neon-blue emerged from just behind each of her ears, a pair of rounded-off rectangles crisscrossed by a finer lattice of neon lines within. She wouldn't be making any Night Witch calendars with such an unfashionable pair of antennae, but the RadLab had been numb to their pleas on that front.

"I don't have radar... but who needs it? Isn't it just cheating!" Miki said, an element of defensiveness in her voice. Jean turned around and saw that Eva had also activated her own set, an array of pins that ringed around her like a collar. She normally didn't use radar, but things had already gotten hot and it wasn't as if the Neuroi didn't already know where they were.

"What was that you did to make your torpedoes hit?" Eva wondered, perhaps trying to bolster Miki's morale by switching the topic back to her strengths.

"My power 'Kaiten' can make currents in water. So it's easy to push torpedoes around."

"Two contacts on bearing 170... friendly!" Jean said excitedly. That was direction of the milk cow. She tried not to hope that it was Briskie and Clark, since such a hope could be easily dashed, but she couldn't help herself. The same coldness that had been sinking further and further into her chest, threatening to drag her into the abyss, suddenly became a bursting of happiness which she was powerless to prevent.

"Hmph. I can't sense them." Eva said, and folded her arms. Jean looked at her with another smug expression and pointed to her antennae.

"Good old Liberion know how."

"Oi, don't you mean _Britannian_." came a shout from the CAM ship. The ginger-haired Hurricat had finished her harangue of the crew and turned her attention to the Nereids idling below. "We taught you everythin' you know about that!"

Eva gestured to the new participant in the conversation and raised her eyebrows delicately at Jean, who only pressed her lips into a line. There was no denying it. Britannia had divulged most of what they knew about military spellcraft to Liberion to help the effort against the Neuroi. They'd given this honor to no other country.

"I fought I was gonna get cut and carried to the fisherman's daughter!" Kitty shouted.

All three Nereids exchanged confused looks with each other.

"If you make it, I'll buy you a tumble down the sink." Kitty reiterated, and gave a two-finger salute. They were equally bewildered by the offer, but a roar of engines and a resumption of the ship's forward motion put a natural end point to the conversation.

"Brits," Jean said, directed towards the departing ship, which was flying the flag of Britannia, "Just because you give birth to a language doesn't mean you can do whatever you want to it."

Jean turned to the southern sky and waited as the approaching dots gradually became larger. Eva and Miki were quiet during this period, knowing it could go either way, perhaps having experienced it for themselves. They watched her lean forward tensely and squint, eventually giving in to the temptation to surge forward to meet them. Both Eva and Miki were close enough aboard to get a spray from GE wake-an annoying faux pas ordinarily, but forgivable under the circumstances. Jean tried to conceal her pleasure at meeting them again. She'd all but written them off. As always, brunette Clark was out front and blonde Briskie close at her heels. Clark waved frantically and Briskie was, as ever, much more reserved. They were both fairly green, so Jean saw fit for them to run together. Briskie was Jean's age, and Clark a year younger. Clark was the smaller of the pair, and they were both smaller than Jean, who tended on the tall side for girls.

"Sorry we're late!" Clark panted, "Briskie had more trouble with her engines."

Briskie winced and cast her eyes down, as if it were her fault. Which it wasn't. Her Gato had been built with a double-power engine that was experimental in all but name. Jean had put in a request for a 'downgrade' to something that actually worked before it became the death of the poor girl.

"I'm sorry..." she said with her quiet voice, "I made you worry again."

Jean took a deep breath of relief and laid a comforting hand on Briskie's shoulder.

"It's not your fault, Briskie. I'll refuse to patrol again until they replace that junky engine."

"Aw, you were really worried, weren't ya, Jean? If I spend too long in the bathroom you probably think I sunk in the toilet. Have a little more faith, wouldja?" Clark said with a childish grin, taking a little pride in the fact that she'd managed to make an impression on their distant pack leader. Jean breathed out through her nose and looked at Clark.

"It's different now. There's a new threat... we'll properly introduce ourselves later, but for now: this is Eva and Miki. They'll be joining us to help defend this convoy."

Eva and Miki both gave a little bow. Clark whined.

"Whaddaya mean we're on convoy duty! Our patrol is over. Why did you volunteer for this, Jeeaaan? We're all tired and we've got nothing, and-" she said. Briskie put a hand on her shoulder to quell the tantrum, and was quite successful.

"Can I field this one?" Eva said politely. Given that Jean wasn't sure what the situation was, either, they might as well all be brought into the fold. Jean nodded to her, and immediately all attention was on Eva.

"Several members of my wolfpack failed to return to the designated rendezvous with our milk-cow. Scattered reports are coming in from various packs all across the Atlantic-I know it's hard to see from here, given the ocean's vastness, but we are in the grip of a massive Neuroi counterattack across the Atlantic. Most Nereid packs operating have been decimated in a matter of days. Things are fuzzy still, but a picture has started to emerge of a new Neuroi called a Hunter-Killer whose function is obvious and whose effectiveness is potentially spoken for by the number of Nereids who are now missing in action."

Eva turned and gestured to the passing convoy behind her. Things seemed quiet for the moment-if there were Neuroi in the area, they had withdrawn temporarily.

"ONS 5-Outbound, North Liberion, Slow-has been stripped of its defensive screen in both a proximal and a distal sense. If this convoy is to make it back to the shores of Liberion, we and any other Nereids who decide to respond to the call I put out are its only hope."

Jean folded her arms.

"What's in it?" she asked of Eva, fairly coolly. Eva tilted her head, trying to get the measure of her.

"Everything and nothing, Jean. What if I told you it was 42 empty ships with skeleton crews? It is a return convoy, after all."

"What's," Jean repeated, meeting Eva's curious eyes, not wishing to reveal anything about her thinking, "in it?"

Eva faded back and rolled over in GE, gesturing with her hand for Jean and the others to follow. The ocean was deceptively peaceful that day. They could go anywhere in a straight line, and it was not necessary to ski or skirt any waves. Miki appeared to have an even faster sprint than Jean and was also having difficulty maintaining station at 180 kt. Eva threaded through the ships in the outlying areas into the heart of the convoy, and they were all given a glimpse of what was important about a return convoy. Not that Jean needed one. Any single sailor in the sorriest dinghy had her protection, because that's what the daughters of Nereus did.

At the center of the convoy was no dinghy. There on the blue ocean in such a humble, nearly nameless convoy was the largest craft that man had ever seen to build. A grand ocean liner cutting through the waves, choked by the slow speed of the merchant ships. Three fat tunnels rose from the centerline, an unmistakable and unique profile.

The _Normandie._

Launched by the Gallians in 1932, her opulence and size had been unrivaled even by the Titanic. Jean pegged her at over 80,000 tons, the weight of three battleships.

"In that ship, Jean-tell me if this meets your _threshold_-more gold than Midas ever touched, literal tons of irreplaceable art, and... over 10,000 refugees fleeing Gallia."

"Clark?" Jean said, "Do you still want to go back? I'd escort you personally. No one follows me except by choice."

Clark looked down and winkled up her little nose, knowing she'd been beat, then held up a finger as if she had a term to impose. Briskie was made nervous even by this, and nearly clung to Clark.

"_Okay_, but: I get to listen to _The Adventures of Superman_."

To much complaint, Jean had banned the listening to of radio dramas given the passive radiation issue she'd earlier mentioned to Eva. It was very likely that she would be able to find a set on the _Normandie_-no, actually, it was assured-that would do the trick.

"Deal. As long as the Neuroi aren't attacking."

"And _The Lone Ranger_ too-"

Jean rapped Clark on the head with her knuckles.


	5. Chapter 4 - Aboard Doris

After Eva's briefing and a round of fruitless searching which lasted hours, Jean finally had a moment to calm down. The sun was lowering in the sky and her patrol was coming around towards the center of the formation. She'd been awake for over a day. It wasn't the length of the patrol that bothered her, really, since she'd had longer-it was the fact that she expected to be done sooner. They were en route to the milk cow, which had joined up with ONS 5. The milk cow in question was formerly named U-459, and had, among other things, the ability to maintain sonar and radar search patterns ahead of _Normandie_, and was in radio contact with the picket ships at the edge of the convoy. In short, its arrival that evening offered them the opportunity to rest and recuperate. They had a trip wire in place.

"That expression you gave me right before we dove towards the Q. What was that?" Jean asked of Eva, who was flying abreast of her in GE. The others were immediately behind them in a line formation. Jean had seen to this inefficient formation to establish the new hierarchy of authority in their group-she and Eva shared the forefront, and the others behind.

"I saw that you loved your Striker. We pride ourselves on our engineering, and we know even the finest machine is a compromise. I've seen many Liberions focus only on how their tools don't meet expectations, and fail to see the value in them. But she's exactly as you wish, isn't she?"

Jean thought on that.

"I'd say so."

"Isn't that because you opened your heart to the possibility? The idea that any Striker would be exactly as you want is unlikely. Instead, you became the person for whom she was perfect. Liberions often want things their own way, and suffer for it, or even cause suffering."

"Don't get me wrong. It's not all sunshine and roses. Maximum depth, for example, could be better." Jean shot Eva a glance. It was nice of her to talk that way, but it wasn't like Jean had a choice in Strikers. All Liberion SS resembled the Gato in some way, and the other difference was whether they were slightly better or worse at the very same role. She had no smorgasbord of options at hand like that Karlslanders. Though if she did, she doubted she would choose otherwise. She wouldn't want Eva's squirrelly Striker, nor Miki's stately one. Perhaps she _had_ become the person for whom it was intended. It wasn't a Liberion way of thinking-her own people wanted to change the world to suit them. They didn't often think of how the world changed them in turn. It was unavoidable, though, wasn't it?

"You don't fool me with your tough act." Eva said.

"Now that you know," Jean said, "I'm afraid I have to kill you. Can't afford to have you tell the others."

Eva bumped against her shoulder, a force which would have sent a less experienced Nereid into the water. Jean managed a recovery. This was followed up by giggling from Clark, and even Miki and Briskie joined in.

"Kill _me_? I, who hold the ear of Poseidon with unerring counsel, whose hands grip the horns of the rushing sea-cow, whose eyes pierce the mysterious ocean?" Eva said challengingly. Jean cleared her throat and pulled out her Ka-Bar.

"I have a knife."

"It _is_ very nice. Can I see it?" Eva said. Jean, of course, passed it off to her for appreciation.

"Now it's mine. In addition to all of those other things I just mentioned. Check and mate."

"Can't trust a Nereid." Jean said.

"Hey Jean. Why do you use a knife so much? Dontcha hate them?" Clark called from the back.

"I don't want to talk about it." Jean said sourly. She really didn't. If she talked about it, it would take her hours to recover her mood. It had been such a good one, too, since her packmates turned out to be alive.

"It must be because Liberion torpedoes are defective!" Miki chimed in helpfully.

"They are...? Oh no." Briskie said, her voice barely audible over the engines. Potentially, only Jean and Clark heard her, since they were used to trying to pick it out. Jean gritted her teeth. She was going to have to say something about it, or Briskie would lose even more confidence.

"They're fine now, Briskie. Before you two commissioned the contact exploders kept breaking. The worst part was that no one believed us. This went on for almost two years. BuOrd quietly fixed it, never admitting any fault." Jean said, her nails digging into her palm. As much as Briskie was cheered up by the news, she appeared to sadden again when she saw how the topic had affected Jean. Eva and Miki might have taken the opportunity to further rag on Liberion _know-how_, but they each looked at her, and then to each other, and declined.

There was nothing on Earth or in the abyss which made her angrier than this. No Neuroi had, after all, ever betrayed her trust. They showed up and you killed them or they killed you. That had a purity to it that reminded her of the animal kingdom. They did not stick around and twist a knife in you for 18 months just to save their skins, all the while claiming to everyone else in the room that they were on your side. 'Inhuman' was a curious word that humans invented to describe _themselves_. Jean's thoughts had been swirling around this paradox for months, never coalescing into anything that might be called an opinion or an idea. It was a mess.

She brought up her SJ Radar and faced the column towards the milk cow, which she'd given the callsign _Doris_ for the purposes of the operation. There were six circular hatches about two meters in diameter in a line on the deck of the sub and each of them successively popped open at the hinge. Eva dropped into one of them, and Jean followed in the next available. Inside was an interesting system that Jean had never seen before. There were six Striker racks in a row in as spacious a bay as could be expected on a sub, and above each was a little pull-up bar to get out. At the base was a circular ring set in the floor which Jean divined contained a hollow cylinder to rise up and enclose the Striker for an underwater launch. Her jaw hung open with amazement at the gloss of the operation. She made her home on sub tenders, which were much less impressive installations. They didn't need to be. _Doris_ was meant to operate in dangerous waters and had been heavily modified for Nereids.

"Wow!" Clark said, upon seeing the bay. She leapt from her Striker and began to gambol around the room, examining everything and behaving with the urgency and attention span of a robber conducting a smash and grab.

"Don't touch anything." Jean warned, which earned her a look. So be it. She didn't want to sink and Clark was the kind of kid who would pull a lever that said 'do not pull.'

"Clark, I'd be happy to tell you about the sub later, after we've had some rest." Eva said.

"This all looks expensive." Jean said, with a whistle of respect.

"Karlsland Nereids helped design it. She can launch and recover without surfacing, if necessary."

The diamond-plate floor was cool on her bare feet. The bays were just far enough apart so that the Strikers could be serviced with tools that were stored in flush lockers on either side of the launching bay. There were also several spare Karlsland Strikers of a couple different types, one of which Jean had never seen before. Another thing she'd never seen before was what appeared to be a female seaman, standing near the exit hatch with her eyes forward. She had a stack of white towels in her hand.

"This boat is-I guess the word is still _manned_, by women." Eva said, noticing Jean's surprise.

"So the Nereids won't create problems? Well. _As_ many."

"We have a reputation of being free with our affections, to put it softly."

"Slander!" Miki cut in, balling a fist and looking frustrated. Jean had anticipated she would look less imposing once she was no longer attached to a big Striker. This was not the case since-she could have seen this coming-neither was Jean.

"I wouldn't say so." Eva said, "How many of you are virgins? Yes, girls count."

A lot of uncomfortable foot-shuffling and looking into various directions, but no hands at first. Not even Miki, who had such strong words a moment earlier. Finally Briskie's hand slowly and tentatively went up. Even though she had something to be proud of, by most standards, she still treated it as if it were a shameful thing.

"_Clark_, are you fooling?" Jean said.

"Summer camp!" Clark shot back shamelessly, displaying two straight rows of pearly whites.

"In our defense, a Nereid is a type of nymph." Jean said, a weak joke.

"That criteria... I have a problem with it. _Girls_ don't count-" Miki said, attempting a defense. It completely backfired on her when she realized, mid-sentence, what she'd voluntarily divulged. The only thing left for her to do was bury her red face against her Striker so that she could not see the eyes of others, somewhat like an ostrich.

If Jean had to put a finger on the real reason, it might have something to do with the fact that they were living, or trying to live, under a long shadow. Although Clark didn't have that excuse, being evidently despoiled before she'd even joined the Nereid Initiative. They were also orphans, and some of them lacked proper rearing. Jean didn't have _that_ excuse, since her parents had died when she was already 13 and inculcated with the value of chastity. Dolphins, the familiar of 95% of Nereids, were also famously amorous. Killer whale Miki didn't have that excuse. There were a lot of things at work, but they all led to one thing: on any installation or any ship, the Nereids had a Navy issue wet blanket shadowing their every move. Jean didn't think she needed it. Her transgression was more singular.

She stepped to the end of the room, assuming the mantle of official leader.

"Eva, have we got enough fuel and ammunition for the big show?"

Eva nodded her head.

"Yes, actually."

"What about those... what did you call them, Miki? Neon torpedoes?"

"Jean! How's that supposed to work. Neon is inert." Clark said, folding her arms.

"_Oxygen_ torpedoes!" Miki corrected, sounding a bit offended that Jean ever could have let that unforgettable moment slip away. In fact, Jean hadn't forgotten. Why she pretended to have-that was beyond her.

"We prepared a stock of them in anticipation of the arrival of the Yanagi transfers-of which Miki here is one. They were going to operate in concert with some of our wolfpacks."

"I will never get the Karlsland-Fuso axis. Where did it come from? It doesn't make sense."

"Are you asking me? I know the answer, but it's dull and it might even offend you." Eva said. Jean waved her off. Miki stepped forward with something to say.

"I've been wondering this for a while, but I don't understand why this Liberion is in command. Eva-aren't you a famous and highly decorated Ace of the Deep, and isn't this tender yours?" Miki said to Eva, and gestured to Jean. They were all very good points, and Jean wouldn't have been at all surprised if Eva came to her senses and tossed her out of a hatch after a good spanking.

"The main reason is that, while my record is longer and in some ways more impressive," Eva said, emphasizing this last part to Jean specifically, "Lt. Fluckey has more experience with leadership and with novel situations."

Miki folded her arms, silenced by this but not convinced. Eva bit her lip and continued.

"She has an uncanny ability to beat the odds. I think it's magical."

"That can't be true." Miki said, although her voice betrayed her desire to believe it.

Jean took in a long breath through her nose as she looked into the hopeful eyes of the Fuso girl in front of her. Then she looked at Eva, the handmaid, and saw that her face was studiously neutral.

"Miki, come here. Let's play Jan Ken." Jean said. She looked at Clark and Briskie, who knew the score, as if to say: quiet. A dubious Miki approached Jean and endured a string of losses that was not broken until the eighth throw, and then she lost the next two. She gave Jean a wide-eyed look of wonder, totally convinced that her probability-bending power was real. Jean looked away from them, turned away by their earnestness.

"I had better take a shower." she said, and left the room.

The sub was luxurious on the inside, which Jean found odd considering all the horror stories she'd heard about Karlsland U-boats. It was more understandable considering the other thing she knew, which was that if you were planning to ask a big favor of someone-like 'save the world or die'-it paid to butter them up first. She planned to avail herself of as much of this hospitality as she could as long as she was able, and right now that meant a long hot shower. A big no-no for ordinary submariners, who were lucky to get a shot at the short and cold variety. And that was in her own Navy. In Karlsland a normal submarine had two showers, one of which they filled with extra food. The other gradually filled up with human waste as the voyage went on, while-with natural symmetry-the food in the first shower dwindled. _Doris_ had neither of these problems. In fact it had a shower and a small locker room just for the Nereids. The shower was large and tiled with porcelain-not wide enough to spread your arms entirely out, but there was plenty of elbow space. Jean peeled her blue swimsuit off of her shoulders. She hadn't actually worn it for the entire patrol, but it had still been on her for far too long.

The falling water quickly reached a scalding temperature, and she reduced the heat to something tolerable and stepped in under the spray. After days in the Atlantic chill, the splash of warm water felt indescribably wonderful. She closed her eyes and let out a low sigh. She felt a pair of hands wrap around her from behind, and then the heavenly feeling of soft breasts pressing against her back. In their modest perfection, they could only belong to one person.

"Eva!" Jean cried, and twisted out of her grasp with an urgency. She plastered herself against the cool tiles under the shower head, as if she'd been caught out by a spotlight during a prison break. She tried to keep her eyes focused on Eva's own, which took monkish levels of inner strength. "What are you doing?!"

"I'm getting in on the hot water before some selfish Liberion uses it all up." Eva said, and framed her breasts with her upper arms. They pressed together until they looked as big as Miki's, and Jean turned her eyes upwards towards the ceiling.

"I'll be out of here in a jiffy. Don't worry." Jean assured her. She no longer had eyes on the girl, so it came as a surprise when Eva pressed the length of her soft body against Jean again. She looked down into Eva's eyes and understood that she wasn't interested in hot water.

#

Later, the five of them were seated quietly around a small wooden table onto which a pair of checkerboard patterns had been painted. The dinner was one of sausages, cheese, and bread-Jean had gathered that they were nearing the end of their supplies. A little bar of chocolate for each of them was stacked at the end of the table, a thought she relished. Karlsland chocolate! She would be more hungry, but she'd gotten a nice tuna shortly before the rendezvous. Clark was looking at Jean smugly, both tan hands framing her head. When most girls got their countershading and manifested their familiar, their skin got darker on one side. Clark's skin was naturally hazel, dotted with darker freckles around her shoulders, so hers actually got lighter. They all wore the brown button-down shirt of a Karlsland uniform over their suits now, except for Miki whose status as a Yanagi transfer had enabled them to scrounge up a white Fuso uniform which, being tailored for ordinary Fuso girls-or ordinary girls in general-was practically bursting at the seams.

"Is there something in my teeth." Jean said, lidding her eyes at the smug-looking Clark. Everyone already knew about the shower incident. Not just the Nereids-the entire boat had been handing out dumb grins like they were going out of style. There were no secrets on a sub. On a surface ship something like that might float off into the air, but down here it just bounced around the pressure hull until it ran into someone.

"I didn't know you were into girls."

"There's a lot of things you don't know, and that's candy coating it."

"Right, like... I didn't know _you_ could make sounds like _this_:" Clark said, beside herself with her prurient glee, and imitated several of said sounds as well as her high voice could allow. Briskie was silenced by her bashfulness, which demanded she cover her face with both hands. Miki turned away, flushed red down to her collarbone. Eva looked at Jean as if to say: a fair imitation. Jean was forced to give Clark some leeway, since the girl had never had the pleasure of an intact family. Even though she was just a year younger, they'd taken different paths. Jean had chosen early adulthood, and Clark had chosen otherwise. Who was the wiser was not clear.

"Clark, that's not appropriate at a table. Or anywhere else."

"Ohhh, I can think of a few places-"

"Go sit in the corner." Jean said, and flitted her eyes over to one of the corners of the room. Clark's expression immediately changed, and she seemed about to cry as she went over to the corner and sat down facing it, Indian style. Jean would have felt bad if she didn't already know that her mood would change the instant her fortunes did.

"I had a moment of weakness, and it won't happen again." Jean said resolutely. This statement was not directed to anyone in particular. Mostly, in truth, to herself.

"I heard at least _two_ distinct moments of weakness!" Clark called over from her time-out corner.

"Clark, _one_ more peep out of you and you can forget about listening to _The Adventures of Superman_." Jean said, pulling her trump card. Clark stiffened with fear as if Jean had a gun held to her. "As for the rest of you-myself included. Maybe I don't have much authority to say this now, but you all keep your hands off Briskie. She plans to get married someday."

Briskie clasped her hands together with hope, her hazel eyes all atwinkle.

"Do you think I could?" she said, sounding unsure. As if she'd ever been sure of anything.

"Of course. We're not... prostitutes! Gals." Jean said.

"Marriage is too much to hope. Our reputation is just..." Miki said, sounding utterly dejected. That was a bridge too far for Jean, who was not about to let torpedo tits mope about any difficulty with men.

"Miki, are you _joshing me_? You have a _lot_ of what men look for in a woman. You cause car accidents when you walk down the street. You're a hazard."

"Why don't men talk to me?"

"Because you're out of their league!"

"...I'm too tall."

"Move to Suomus, you Oriental Valkyrie. Listen, girls: never think that you don't have a future. I don't want anyone like that in my pack. Don't you all have something you want most, other than this?" Jean said. She wasn't sure of the sincerity of these words, spoken off the cuff, but they were pretty and she had to say _something_ to raise morale and foster a sense of unity. If it was all just sex scandals, scoldings, and suicide missions, they were doomed. She also had to think of something plausible for herself before the discussion rounded to her, because she did not actually have any dreams of her own. She looked to Eva first.

"I hadn't really thought about it," Eva said, which surprised Jean. She imagined Eva had thought about literally everything, at some point. "I guess... I'd like to write a book about all this. About the Nereids and the Battle for the Atlantic."

Jean privately thought: _that's wonderful, but they'd ban it_. She was struck by the crazy idea that her shower tryst might someday sit in black and white between leather-bound covers in a quiet library somewhere, long after all had passed. That was too much to hope: that the book would be available to view or that Eva would survive write it. She suddenly regretted initiating the exercise, but it was too late to halt.

"Clark, you can come back. Tell us what you want most." Jean said. Clark bounced back to the table and sidled up close to Briskie. The two were inseparable, and in an entirely-as far as Jean knew-platonic way.

"That's easy. I want to go to the bottom of the sea." Clark said, and folded her arms. The statement cast something of a pall over the table until she clarified: "And come back, obviously! Once we've evicted these Neuroi we'll be able to explore the ocean for real. I'll build something... like a Sub Striker, except you use it to explore and study marine stuff."

Jean dug her fingernails into her knees, under the table, and turned to Briskie.

"How about you, Briskie?"

"Me? Oh, you already know."

"Tell me again."

Briskie bit her lower lip and turned her green eyes up at Jean. She had wire-straight blonde hair, kept it long, and a pale complexion. No great beauty like Eva or Miki. She was more average like Jean, except with a pure heart that made her more attractive to men.

"I just want... to be normal. To marry a good man and raise a nice family, somewhere quiet."

"Briskie, why do you fight, then? You don't have to." Jean said.

"If the monsters win, no one gets to live a life like that."

"Lots of people are living normal lives back home. You could join them."

"You don't... need me?" Briskie wondered fretfully.

"No, no, Briskie," Jean rushed, "We do. Your healing magic is the only reason I don't look like I've been in a barroom brawl."

"Oh... okay. Then that's that." Briskie said, and smiled at Jean. Jean heaved a sigh. She had been pretty bruised up earlier, a fact Briskie had managed to smooth over quite easily. That was how all such conversations had gone: Jean would encourage Briskie to drop this Nereid nonsense and ride off into the sunset, and she in turn would simply ask if she was needed and the honest answer Jean always gave was: yes. So Briskie stayed, even though she hated fighting, and was terrified by most of what happened. Jean noted that-despite her fears and concerns, she wasn't actually _bad_ at any of it. It was true she wasn't brilliant in a fight, but she was more reliable and consistent than anyone else. Her healing magic was also unusually strong.

"Miki?" Jean said, and turned to the Fuso. The girl's brown eyes seemed unsure.

"I don't understand what this is all about. To use my power to fight for the Emperor, to protect Fuso and the whole of mankind-there's no greater honor."

Jean could see this one would require a hypothetical.

"Assume the Neuroi have been defeated, and humanity is at peace. What would you do?" Jean said. The thought seemed to bring the big girl pain.

"If there was no need for fighting spirit, I suppose... I'd like to find a... business partner, and... open a sushi shop with him." Miki said, blushing and pressing the tips of her index fingers together. Business partner. "In time, he might come to accept my shame, and we would be happy together!"

There was a lot of quiet as the other four looked at Miki, nothing to say about her touching wish. She became ever more embarrassed until she finally stabbed a finger towards Jean and said: "That's all besides the point! What about you?"

Jean was taken by surprise, even though she had initiated the exercise and resolved to think of something good before her turn arrived. She'd been so shocked at what the other girls were keeping in their hearts that she'd forgotten all about it. This confusion showed on her face.

"I-"

"Hey, _wait_ a minute. Jean. You don't have anything, do you?" said Clark, an unfortunate combination of intelligence and tactlessness. Jean opened her mouth as if to say something, anything, to save face. She couldn't think, and closed it wordlessly. The gazes of her packmates were full of concern. Unlike Eva, she hadn't been able to conjure up something noble in a flash.

"Er-there's a lot I'd like to know. I'd like to finish high school and go to college."

She did want those things, but they had been well beyond her horizon. She picked up the stainless steel mug of water and held it out in a toast.

"To the future." she said. They were all mid-toast when they were interrupted by the entrance of the comm officer, a shorter woman named Lt. Loewen who kept her black hair in a tight bun. She faced her eyes forward and had a number of papers in front of her.

"Lt. Schultze. We've received a message from KMHQ. Admiral Dönitz is rendering you a field promotion to the permanent rank of Lieutenant Commander." she said.

"I figured they'd try to do something like that." Jean said, knowing they were looking to force Eva to the head position. Eva looked mildly surprised, but said nothing just yet. Loewen turned to Jean vaguely, facing her eyes on Jean's bearing but not at her eyes.

"Lt. Fluckey. We've received a message from Admiral King of the LSN congratulating you on your completion of a successful patrol. They have seen fit to confer on you the permanent rank of Lt. Cmdr. We have received a second message from the LSN affirming your assumption of the command of a joint wolfpack for the defense of ONS.5, to be named Escort Group 7. They have agreed subsequently to temporarily confer on you the rank of _Commander_." she said, and added sardonically: "Congratulations."

Jean gave Eva a grin.

"I figured they'd try something, so I tried something first."

"A wily lot, you are." Eva said.

Loewen cleared her throat to get attention back on her.

"We've also received a message from someone aboard _SS Normandie_. She claims to be 'The Last One Out of Toulon.'"

"Jacqueline L'Herminier! She's here?" Jean said. The Gallian Fleet had been infamously destroyed by the Neuroi at Toulon seven months prior, an operation Jean was only at the periphery of. Jacqueline L'Herminier, a Gallian Nereid, had been at the _center_ of it. Following her narrow escape from Toulon, she was one of only a handful of Gallian Nereids. She might even be, as her title held, the last one to get out of the port city alive.

"I can only say what's been said to me. She has requested help-she claims there is unrest on the ship. Take it for what you will."

"What's this?! An old friend calls out for help and the _Normandie_ is in trouble! This is a job for:" Clark said, and hooked her fingers underneath the front of her Karlsland uniform. With a yank from her to both sides, all of the buttons scattered to the floor and revealed the Liberion star on her pale blue swimsuit.


	6. Chapter 5 - Jackie

_Doris_ fell back to pull alongside the grandiose _SS_ _Normandie_, which threw into stark contrast the differing profiles of the two oceangoing vessels. The five Nereids of newly-formed Escort Group 7 were stood upon the deck, listening to the gentle waves against the hulls of both ships as they slowly cut through the water, dimly illuminated by the twilight. Each of them craned their necks up at the 70-foot odd gap between the surface of the ocean and the guardrails surrounding the deck of the ocean liner. A cluster of people had noticed the approach of _Doris_ and leaned over the rail to look down on them, but they were too distant and their features were too darkened by the night to resolve. They were lit from behind by the lights of the ship, which only made them appear like living shadows.

Clark's Karlsland uniform whipped around in the breeze, opened at the front by her impulsive behavior. The girl ruined at least one top a week in that same way. Sometimes she managed to cajole Briskie into sewing the buttons back on, and just as often simply bought a new one. It wasn't as if their salary had anywhere tangible to go.

"She's got quite a freeboard to her." Eva said, a huge understatement. The freeboard was the distance between the ocean surface and the deck of the ship. This dimension was an especially important to a Nereid because they could jump only so far out of ground effect with a burst of acceleration. The massive _Normandie_ featured a dizzying 7-story ascent to the weather deck, a vertical leap which was well beyond any of them. They could not, as Witches did, bridge Heaven and Earth. Any freeboard beyond their leap might as well be in the clouds.

"You said it. There's no getting up there with U-Strikers." Jean said. The Karlsland term for Sub Strikers had been catching on since Eva had let it slip. There was something compelling about it.

"We're not taking our Strikers? What are we going to do then?" Clark said, put off at not being able to rush in and save the day.

"They're not Neuroi, Clark. We're not police either and we don't need to do anything about unrest. Our object is to recruit Miss L'Herminier into 7EG."

"What is 7EG?" Miki said.

"Escort Group 7. That's us." Jean said, pointing to herself and the others. The girl had never been in an escort group, obviously. Miki bit down on her thumb in thought.

"Why isn't it _EG7_? I don't understand this language."

"No one does, least of all the ones who invented it. You saw that for yourself."

"You mean that cat girl was speaking Britannian?" Miki said, her brown eyes wide with wonder. Jean nodded.

"Sort of. _Anyway_. The _Normandie's_ affairs are their own business and we're not going to get involved. Understood?" Jean said. The reception was tepid yet relieved, a sort of ambivalence. The girls were relieved that their task was so simple, yet apprehensive that they had been so circumscribed.

If the issue was beyond them, so be it. The human world and its politics was not their purview. This concept had been drilled into them again and again. Jean would protect people, especially sailors, from Neuroi. She would go to any length. She would not, could not, protect them from themselves.

"Even if you say that," Miki said, "we don't know what the situation is. It could be chaos!"

Miki seemed oddly pleased by the prospect of said disorder. Jean noted that the closer that girl got to a fight, or even the potential of one, the happier she was. Maybe she really was a Valkyrie.

Jean gripped the hilt of her trusty knife, which was now sheathed in a dark leather holster bound to her thigh. She was then treated to a montage of the personal defense weapons the others had chosen. A quick draw from Eva produced a Walther PPK from a nigh invisible holster on the small of her back. Clark pulled out the 1911 displayed prominently on her hip holster and checked the magazine. Briskie in turn had Clark, whom she drew close to at the mere concept of violence against her fellow man. It had taken Jean ages to convince Briskie to raise a hand to a Neuroi, so it was hopeless to convince her that some people had to go. That was probably for the best, and in any case Jean had no doubt of Clark's ability to protect her.

Like Jean, Miki carried a dagger in a thigh holster. It was a long and thin implement with an unadorned blade and a sharp edge. Nothing like the ornate Fuso works she'd heard of, it reminded Jean of an especially menacing fillet knife with a proper hilt. Clark looked on it with such obvious disappointment that Miki noted it.

"What is it?" Miki said, cleanly replacing her knife without even looking at it or the sheath. Jean's eye saw that the girl had performed the simple action-drawing and replacing her knife-thousands of times. She did it as easily and naturally as she would have wiggled her toes. Jean had found that Fuso had an odd concept of training which consisted of performing simple acts over and over, seemingly long after their apparent mastery. It was ritualistic rather than pragmatic, and thus completely alien to Liberions. She didn't _get_ it. She had never stood around in the moonlight doing the same thing over and over. Most of what she knew about melee combat, the Neuroi had taught her. The hardest lessons the Neuroi had to teach had fallen to the people who were now gone. This thought left a strange chill as it blew by her, like the whip of a passing bullet.

"Where's your samurai sword? Gosh." Clark said, sagging with her displeasure at Miki's failure to produce one of the fabled implements.

"My spirit is the same!" Miki insisted.

"Maybe you're more like a ninja. Nereids are kinda _sneaky_." Clark said, folding her arms and considering the point to herself. Unbeknownst to her, Miki was highly offended by this comparison. Jean saw that she choked back the full brunt of it for the moment.

"You take that back." she said, as strenuous a demand as there ever was.

"What? Why... what's wrong with being a ninja?" Clark said, oblivious to what was at stake. Namely, Miki's honor. Instead of watching things descend into a cross-cultural incident, Jean cut the matter off by putting her hand on Clark's back and shoving her into the cool dark water of the Atlantic. The girl splashed around and sputtered in the brine, whining to no effect. Briskie ran to the rear past the conning tower and hustled to the edge of the deck to reach out a concerned hand, even though Clark was a Nereid and not in danger in the slightest. Jean turned to Miki.

"Liberions think ninjas are swell. Clark doesn't know any better." she said, and looked at Miki apologetically. Miki turned her shoulders down.

"Then, I'm sorry. I've heard that before," she said quietly, "from people who did."

Miki's experience was unfortunately common. Humanity was acquainted with all of the perceived failings of the Nereids, which happened on the surface and in full view, but hardly any of their successes. Most of those had happened far beyond the eyes of men, in the depths, or over a distant horizon. This effect had given rise to the nickname the 'silent service,' one absent of glory. Karlsland had attempted to remedy this with their Aces of the Deep list, and had met with mild success. Strike Witches enjoyed huge numbers of victories over numerous foes, while a Nereid in the teeth of destruction against a deep sea Neuroi a hundred times larger was only met with the number: 1. The Aces of the Deep list had changed the measuring stick to tonnage. That put them more in line with the Strike Witches, even if it had problems of its own. Jean had taken down a Neuroi Capital at 20,000 tons-one of the perks of the Liberion operating area was the presence of these heavies, all but unheard of in the Karlsland zone. Ace status still eluded her, but at least the victory put her up by 20 instead of _one_.

Eva stretched out her hand towards the towering _Normandie_, or otherwise the barely-visible canopy of stars beyond it. A clear and calm night was arriving, revealing only a sliver of a moon and a scattering of wispy cirrus clouds.

"An ill omen." Miki said, following Eva's hand to the heavens, and catching sight of Luna.

"She is waning, certainly. They'll be hardly anything left by tomorrow evening." Eva said, her matter-of-fact tone not revealing any of her thoughts on Miki's statement. Jean folded her arms. Downstream past the conning tower Briskie had managed to fish Clark out of the water with a yank, and the both of them collapsed on the aft deck in a fit of laughter which even Briskie joined in on.

"You should take heart, Miki." Jean said, "It's a fine omen. Nereids have a better record in darkness."

Miki did draw herself up with this encouragement, even if Jean didn't know if what she said was strictly the case, statistically speaking.

ONS.5 was transiting the so-called Mid-Atlantic Gap, the span of sea outside the ranges of land-based aircraft and Strike Witches. These ranges were shown as bubbles on maps centered on their respective bases, and showed the vast stretches of ocean the Neuroi Atlantic Colony had its own way in. At its current pace it would take several days to reach air cover out of the Eastern Coast of Liberion. By the time Luna saw fit to show them a proper waxing crescent, they would be nearing safety.

A rope ladder cascaded over the side of the great ship, rapping against the side as it unrolled and halting a foot from the water's edge. Whoever had made the toss had done a decent job of subtracting the water line height from the total length of the ladder. Jean took off the Karlsland uniform and tossed it into one of the nearest open hatches, as if it were a giant laundry basket. She wasn't representing that nation, and she'd rather be seen in a simple suit under the circumstances. Cold air bothered her more than cold water. Jean began to shiver, which she counted on to abate during the seven-story ascent ahead of her.

Clark had lost what was left of her Karlsland uniform when she was cast into the water. Eva wrinkled her nose up at the casual treatment of her country's uniforms, to which Jean could only offer a sheepish look. Briskie was the only one to have done right by her borrowed things, folding the shirt up nicely and passing it off to a Karlsland officer waiting in the conning tower. Jean walked out onto the open Striker bay door, which when swung out extended over the ocean like a great steel plank. She waited for the conn to get them nearer to the ladder. She didn't want to jump into the freezing water and then immediately climb back into the cold air, a transition whose unpleasantness was attested to by Clark's theatrically chattering teeth. The girl wasn't in danger of hypothermia, at least.

"Hey, J-Jean," Clark said, so chilled that she was having difficulty speaking properly, "Once w-w-we're on the _Normandie_ and get Jackie on board with the suicide mission, do you think we could have a look around? Do some s-s-sightseeing?"

Jean furrowed her brow and looked up at the great ship. _Normandie_ was a wonder of the world, the largest and grandest of her noble kind. Even packed with refugees, she would be sure to offer many sights the outright denial of which could have an negative effect on morale.

"Sure. If things aren't too bad, I'll grant a liberty. Just keep an ear to your radio and don't go off alone. By the way, we're not on a suicide mission," Jean said, adding: "And even if we were we definitely wouldn't pitch it like that."

"A matter of marketing?" Eva said with a tilt of her head upwards, drawing rather too close to Jean for comfort. She was close enough to feel her body heat. In spite of the shower incident, Jean had made it clear that she did not intend to... well. _To_.

"A Liberion specialty." Jean said. Her people had their share of weaknesses, but selling things was not one of them. The short conversation had given the crew of _Doris_ time to align the open hatch with the ladder, which allowed Jean to step onto it. She looked up at the ascent, the ladder undulating in the light breeze.

"It's high..." Briskie said nervously.

"No more than two at a time on this. Briskie, you can stay behind if you don't want to climb it."

"No! I'll go." she said.

Jean gave her a stiff nod and grasped the first rung. By the time Jean had ascended to the deck of the _Normandie_, the people that had gathered at the rail had fallen back into a semicircle around her. On the outside edge of the crowd there were a handful of Gallian sailors on hand, unarmed and perceptibly nervous. She looked over the assembled people and saw not an ounce of malice-at most they were apprehensive. None of them appeared to be very wealthy, dressed in heavy coats whose long history of wear was spoken to by numerous clever patch jobs. There were women, children, and men in kind, struggling to maintain their dignity in a time of want. Most of them were men, and several of the children were grasped and led away once it became clear to their mothers that the object of their attention was a Nereid. Jean's lot was easily identifiable as such, being the only ones on the forecastle and possibly the ship as a whole who were in bathing suits.

Eva was close behind her over the bulwark, as she had been the entire ascent.

"I should have made you go up first." Jean said quietly, to which Eva only rolled her eyes.

"You're a terrible tease, you know."

"I like the view. I just don't want us to become... the _l-word_."

"Lesbians?" Eva said with a facetious lowering of her eyelids. Jean gave a cough, since Eva well knew the word she'd been getting at was _lovers_. She'd spoken enough with Eva to understand that they both enjoyed the company of boys, as did most Nereids. It was a common misconception that they didn't, mostly because they hadn't as many opportunities to get at the opposite sex.

Most of the people on the wide forecastle were not bearing witness to the arrival of 7EG. A great mass had assembled at the foot of a huge capstan on which was stood another bedraggled refugee, a fair haired man in his late 30s with a shadow of stubble to him. He was busy hectoring the crowd in Gallian, a language which Jean fortunately knew well. Another thing she knew about was crowds and their manipulation, a feature which was common to any democracy. The man on the makeshift pedestal was not working a crowd for the first time. He was dressed similarly to those around him, though it was equally likely that he came from another class and had only clothed himself in the garb of his audience.

After the others were on deck, Jean closed on the enterprising demagogue and find out what he was trying to convince the crowd of.

"Don't mistake this: we've been abandoned. Where are their carriers? Eastbound, with their so-called 'high priority' convoys. This isn't surprising to any of you, not at all. You've been abandoned before by Liberions. Do you remember at the outbreak of the Neuroi war when your homes were burning to ash, and your screams were so piercing they echoed across the Atlantic. Did any come?" he shouted. There was a dark murmur of agreement, to which Jean winced. Allowing Europe to fall while their internal politics worked itself out was not Liberion's proudest moment. It was the opposite. "They were deaf to you then. No help is going to come now, not from them or anyone. Our only hope is to trust ourselves, our own _Normandie_. Ladies and gentlemen, this ship is a thoroughbred in a herd of mules. The winner of the Blue Riband for fastest transatlantic crossing! If we turn her loose we could sprint for safety in only two days. Is it really their intention to plod along and give the Neuroi an entire week to plan our demise?"

Jean was satisfied she had the measure of what Jackie had related. She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Briskie had gotten the attention of one of the boys in the crowd, a dark-complected Gallian who looked a couple years older than her. She gave a bashful little wave.

"I see. They're thinking about leaving the convoy." Eva said. Jean had started to notice that the crazier things got, the more inscrutable and calm Eva became. The opposite of most people.

"Two days?" Miki blanched, "Outside the convoy they wouldn't survive the night."

"It's suicide." Clark agreed, and folded her arms, "Jean, you have to say something!"

Jean shook her head and turned away.

"It's not our problem." she said.

She was then treated to a verbal backstab the likes of which she had never felt. A voice rose up from behind her directed squarely at the five of them. It belonged to the one on the capstan.

"To think there are people who are sincerely suggesting we put our faith in _them_. Even now they turn their backs on you. Get used to seeing that. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you: where is the most faithless creature? She is here. Those nymphs, those abyss-children, diseased in mind and body. What sort of fool trusts all the sons and daughters and all the wealth and culture of Gallia with _them_. For your own sake, I beg you not touch them, not speak to them, not listen if they speak, lest you be infected yourself." the man called at her back.

Jean felt the burning gaze of hundreds on her, and risked a glance off to the side. They were now surrounded by a fifteen foot zone-of-inhibition. Faces which were earlier only apprehensive and unsure now had a ugly and distrustful cast to them, having been given permission by someone persuasive to unpack already-existing prejudices in the worst way. Briskie buried her face in Clark's shoulder, her confidence too shattered to look anyone, much less a boy, in the eye.

She would have given anything just then to give him a piece of her mind, but she had clear directives not to make herself heard. Especially in situations such as this one, where she didn't know what other measures were being taken by her side. She shook her head to Clark, who was giving the speaker a real stink eye, and clasped a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"Come on." Jean said. She had a plan to find Jacqueline, but at the moment she just wanted to get away from the crowd that had just been poisoned against them. They were waved over to an entrance into the ship by one of the Gallian sailors on hand. The door, guarded by two, led to a curiously empty room full of chairs and various plant life. The interior of _Normandie_ was painful in its luxury, intimidating with the modernity of its Art Deco styling. There was a reason the Gallians had seen fit to invent the phrase avant-garde.

Jean immediately felt out of place, a fifteen year old girl in a bathing suit standing in the first-class Winter Garden of the fabled _Normandie_. Before the war she had heard about movie stars taking voyages on the ship, which was famous for its luxury. The Winter Garden was now a largely-empty lounge full of chairs and tables which Jean imagined would have, in another world, seated at least 50 cigar-smoking plutocrats and their trophy wives and mistresses.

"I feel like I'm about to get kicked out." Clark said, vocalizing Jean's own feelings exactly.

"We are a little under-dressed." Eva granted, lifting up the hem of her uniform.

"Still better than Witches. They go around wearing panties! And people say we're the shameless ones. I'd never do that." Jean said.

"How is that more shameless than a bathing suit? There's no difference in exposure." Eva said. Jean looked at her blankly.

"It, uh, just is."

"This ship is grand..." Miki said, drifting off, "But it looks so strange."

"Europeans got a little weird with art after the first Neuroi War. Especially Gallia." Jean said, and eased herself into one of the odd-looking Art Deco armchairs. A set of those chairs probably cost more than her childhood. Eva took one of the chairs opposite her and ran her fingers along a nearby fern. Jean took a deep breath, knowing she would need to broach on the uncomfortable subject of what just happened. "I don't think we're in danger, gals. They're afraid, but there's nowhere for their fear to go. Don't let it get to you."

Briskie sniffed, her face ruddy with spent tears, and nodded to Jean.

"I know, I just-I'm sorry." she said. Everyone looked down quietly.

"Look at it this way," Eva said, with a smile of encouragement, "If someone has to bear the brunt of those feelings of fear and powerlessness, why not us? We can defend ourselves and have some measure of authority over our fates. If they did not have us they might turn to some other party, one without our advantages."

Eva's thought had a galvanizing effect on morale for which Jean was grateful. Even she sat a little straighter to think that, if they were to suffer, at least it might spare someone else, someone who could not endure it. Maybe even many such others. That was, after all, what they were fundamentally in it for. It was predicated on the idea that someone had to suffer-that there was nothing Jean or anyone could do to stop it. That assumption was questionable, a fact Eva likely knew. Still. She felt better.

"So, how're we gonna find Jackie? It's kind of a big place." Clark said.

"Sheesh. Always jumping the gun, Clark. Can't you just hold onto your suit for a second? This is a lounge, so let's." Jean said, narrowing her eyes playfully at Clark.

"Okay. But where do think she-"

"I'm right here. I've been here for a while." came a nearby voice. Clark nearly leapt from her chair with a yelp of surprise.

Jean lolled her head over to see a Gallian girl who had her arms folded. She was about Eva's height with shining, wavy black hair that came to her shoulders, and her eyes were also dark. She wore an odd swimsuit which was a single piece of black material that covered her as if she was wearing a skintight shirt and a small and equally skintight pair of shorts. Or at least it would, if there were not a deep cut down the center of it that offered a view of the sides of her breasts. Everyone except Jean exhibited at least some measure of surprise by the suddenness and proximity of her appearance.

"Where did you come from?" Eva said, unaccustomed to breaches in her situational awareness. Jackie made a show of buffing her nails on her suit and looked at Eva.

"_Mon petit dauphin_, I wouldn't expect a Karlslander to understand subtlety." she said. Eva squinted her eyes at the Gallian testily, who graciously returned the favor. There was no love lost between their countries.

Jean got out of her chair and threw her arms around Jackie in a hug.

"Jackie! Nice to see you again. Gals, this is Jackie. She has an ability called Phantom which makes her hard to notice. So I figured it would be easier if we just stayed put and let her find us."

Jackie folded her arms and regarded the members of 7EG with an unmistakable curl of her upper lip.

"What a ragtag bunch you are. And. Dear God. Is that a _Fuso_?" she said with disbelief. Miki pointed an unsure finger to herself, her brow furrowed with her failure to grasp the rhetoric of Jackie's insult. "Yes you. Are you smuggling cantaloupes?"

"No...?" Miki said, totally confused. Jean knew the girl wasn't dumb, but she certainly had an incredible blind spot when it came to her cantaloupes.

"What can I say," Jean said, holding her hands out as if she were admitting something, "We're out of our depth, Jackie. That's why we need you."

"Ugh!" Jackie said, "So transparent. Liberions are even less subtle than Karlslanders. Never. I'll do better alone, like always-"

Jean looked at Clark, exchanging a wordless command, and then the pair of them tackled the girl and tickled her mercilessly. They succeeded in eliciting a hail of uncontrollable giggles from the previously snooty and composed girl.

"Stop, stop! My weakness! I can't breathe! Stop! _Arr__êter_!" Jackie pleaded.

"Join us!" Jean said, refusing to let up. Jackie held out a good deal longer than she expected, perhaps coming close to genuinely passing out, then finally relented.

"Alright! Liberion brutes! I'll join you." she said, and then managed to extricate herself from Clark and Jean. She dusted herself off and attempted to regain her composure. She then looked over to Miki and Eva, who were each agog, and made a mocking imitation of the faces they were wearing. "So I'm ticklish. It's adorable, like everything else about me."

Eva and Miki looked at each other, as if to affirm that they were both experiencing the same unbelievable person.

"Mission accomplished!" Jean said, "Let's get back to _Doris_ before the Gallians break out the ol' guillotine."

"Hey wait a minute. Didn't you say we weren't in danger." Clark said.

"We're not. _Yet_." Jean said.

"We can't go. We have to stop the _Normandie_ from sprinting out of formation." Jackie said, looking off to the side. Finally she'd got around to asking help. Jean knew it was coming, but the girl's pride had to be satisfied first.

"Jackie, we can't do that. You know that." Jean said with a sigh, "It's not like a ship is a democracy. They can talk all they want."

"Don't you know anything of Gallia? Maybe I had you wrong. If the people want full speed, they will get it. It's not in doubt!" Jackie said.

"Then they get it. Who was it that said that 'Democracy is the art of... finding out, well, wait, what was it they said?" Jean said, biting her thumb and blushing as she fumbled the memory of this peculiarly relevant quote.

"'Democracy is the theory that common people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard.' Liberion satirist, H.L. Mencken." Eva supplied. Jean quelled a desire to kiss her in the Gallian fashion.

"That's it!" Jean said, "I know they've been warned-by you, by the captain, and others who know better. There's nothing we can do... Jackie, I'm sorry. If you want to stay on this ship of fools, I can't rightly stop you, but there are still thousands of people who can be saved in the rest of the convoy. For their sake, please join us."

Jackie made a long sigh, seemingly on the point of giving up, then looked at Jean with resolve.

"Come with me?" she said, and seeing Jean's hesitation, "Until the engines ring up. That's all I ask. Then I'll go with you."

Jean nodded with agreement.


	7. Chapter 6 - Democracy

Jackie led them further into the lavish depths of Normandie. Some spaces, such as the Winter Garden, were empty, but many more had been lined with hundreds of cots to give the war-weary refugees a place to lay their heads. Jean noticed that, in the depths, there were many more women and children than on the weather deck. Their reception was undoubtedly warmer as well. The long dining room reminded Jean of the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, which she'd had the fortune to see before the outbreak of the war. In lieu of white-clothed circular tables there were now banks of unadorned cafeteria-style rectangles from one end to the other, occasionally broken to allow passage between rows.

"Oh, wow. Look at that! Jean, can we become refugees? Pleease?" Clark said. Despite their unfortunate station in life, the refugees had a rich beef stew on hand, and loaves of fresh bread. Jean picked up one obviously abandoned crust and popped it into her mouth. She closed her eyes. It was a bit of a treat after the days worth of patrol and the somewhat-lacking dinner they'd been treated to on _Doris_. Jean granted it was mostly due to a dearth of fresh food aboard. Mostly. Karlslanders had their own virtues, but, many as they were, the Gallians would never lose when it came to fine food and drink. Not even the most desperate circumstances would stand between them and a good meal. What was more human than that?

"My people can spin culinary straw into gold. It's a gift sorely lacking in some of the more barbaric nations on the continent, who concern themselves only with war." Jackie said, laying a hand over her heart. The girl didn't even bother to temper her pride. Jean liked that about her. Eva's face flashed into a frown.

"Supplies get a bit thin near the end of a voyage on a U-boat." she said, doing her best to sound casual. Jackie lidded her eyes. Since Jean had fought alongside the girl before, she recognized it as the same exact face she made when she'd successfully got into an attack position undetected.

"So if I got _Normandie_ to offload some foodstuffs to _Doris_, then, perhaps, _you_ would be able to treat us to that famous Karlsland cuisine?"

"Me? Cook? Of... course. I'd be happy to." Eva said, forced into taking up the challenge. Not even when Eva was getting a face full of laser from a Neuroi had she looked quite so wide-eyed and frightened. Jackie, in contrast, could not have appeared more smug.

"We could also get some fresh fish!" Miki said excitedly. Fishing was something all Nereids enjoyed. Or hated. Either way, they were good at it.

"Is this what you brought me here to see, Jackie? I'm not changing my mind for the sake of food." Jean said.

"Mph. Speak for yourself, Jeannie." Clark piped up, having somewhere acquired half a bowl of the stew and a slice of baguette.

"Clark! Did you nick that from a table? Put it back!" Jean said, and grabbed the end of the bread that was still sticking out of Clark's mouth. She had a tug of war with the girl that reminded her trying to get a treat away from a dog, right down to a load of insistent growling from Clark's end. Jean gave up before it escalated into biting, and turned around with a sigh.

"Don't worry. There's enough for you to have a bite." Jackie said, and then waved for Jean to follow her, "It's just ahead. We're almost there."

"Okay, but I don't see what this is leading to." Jean said. They were almost out of the dining room area when one of the refugees ran up to them.

She had long, dark hair, and was bundled up in a dark coat that was much too large for her. It caused the sleeves to drape over her hands. Her face was pale and smooth, marred by a deep cut that ran from her temple down to the middle of her round cheek. There was no telling where she'd gotten it. While not life threatening, it was red with infection and would definitely leave her a reminder in the form of a long line of scar tissue.

"Are you a Witch?" the girl said, eyes wide with wonder as she looked to Eva. Jean evidently hadn't triggered that question. Eva knelt down.

"Sort of. What's your name?" she said, a warm smile.

"Mercy. They evacuated my orphanage when the Neuroi got too close. They're bringing us to Liberion for adoption!"

"I'm Eva. We're all Nereids. We protect ships like this one from sea monsters."

"Gee, really? You'll protect _Normandie_?" the girl said, amazed.

"Darling," Jean said, kneeling down and using her sweetest voice to address the child, "Are you being paid to do this?"

Mercy looked over to Jackie with a confused expression, giving up the game immediately. Jackie pressed her lips together and passed a ration ticket into the girl's hand, her eyes directed somewhere towards the ceiling. The girl tried to escape right then but was halted when Jackie grabbed her by the back of the collar.

"Hold on. That's my coat!" Jackie said, "It wasn't part of the deal."

"You don't need it, you _Nair_iads don't even feel the cold." the girl said, initiating a pathetic and inconclusive struggle between them.

"It rhymes with _myriad_," Jackie said as she tried to get a good grip on the slippery orphan, "and even though I won't die from the cold, I still feel it, and I hate it. That coat doesn't even fit you! And to boot, you weren't a very good actress, so I shouldn't have paid you at all."

Jean saw that Jackie was using virtually none of her superior strength in the scuffle, either as a magical girl or even simply as a regular girl who was bigger and seven years the girl's senior. Jackie could have overpowered the orphan and retrieved her things, but seemed to settle for just keeping her in arm's reach until an agreement could be made. Or not.

"You got what you paid for. Let me go! Help! The _Naiads_ are after my innocence!" the girl wailed. They were starting to attract an ill brand of attention.

"You little twerp! _Naiads_ are freshwater nymphs!" Jackie said, her shoulders slumped with defeat and she let the girl run on, then added more quietly: "We're Nereids." 'Mercy'-if that was even her name-turned around and stuck her tongue out before fading into the crowd, carrying away the valuable wool coat. Jean then put her hands on her hips and looked at her Gallian friend, a picture of someone who was not impressed.

"That was shameful." Miki said, summing things up in a word. Jackie drew herself up with defiance.

"I won't hear it from you. None of you are in the position I am." she said.

"Even if you say that, you tried to take the coat off the back of a war orphan." Miki said, folding her arms under her breasts, which framed them and put them on display. This was meant to show her disapproval, but Jean found that she wouldn't mind offending her once or twice to that end.

"I gave it to her in the first place!" Jackie said indignantly, then after a little more thought: "Fine! I wasn't at my best. It's just, these orphans! They'll take you for everything you have. It's easy for you people to take the high road when you haven't ever had to deal with them. I gave them everything."

"You just said they _took_ everything." Clark said. Jackie threw up her hands.

"What's the difference! The result is the same. I'd never let adults push me around like that."

"That is, without a doubt, the _strangest_ form of charity I have ever heard of." Eva said. The Karlslander knitted her brow with concern, trying to understand the girl before her. She was odd even by Gallian standards.

"You see. That coat belonged to my sister, and... she's gone now."

Jackie looked down. Everyone, especially Miki, looked ashamed of any judgment they'd passed until Jean spoke up to correct the record.

"Gals, she's lying. She doesn't have a sister and never did." Jean said, "For crying out loud, Jackie. You really are pulling out the stops."

Jackie sat herself on a step and buried her face in her hands.

"C'mon." Jean said, "Stop faking." She bent over at the hip and examined her more closely. Jackie could fake sadness, but, however she tried, tears eluded her.

Jackie covered her face with her forearm and charged off further into the depths of the ship. Jean took a breath and looked at the others.

"She's not all bad."

"Um..." Clark said, digging the tip of her toe into the floor.

"I know you two have a history," Eva said, doing to best to remain diplomatic, "but are you sure bringing her in is wise?"

"...she's a fantastic cook." Jean said after a long pause. Even the most skeptical of them perked up at this. Clark most of all.

They caught up to Jackie in another more sparsely populated lounge which had not been converted to bedding or dining. The room resembled the Winter Garden with its copses of armchairs and tables, but different in the main attraction. Where the Winter Garden centered around a diversity of plant life, the Grand Salon was built in the shadow of enormous murals depicting oceanic myths. In one lovely Venus rose from the depths on a seashell, a fully grown woman, continuously reborn as a virgin with the ocean's power. Presumably the ancient way of suggesting that, whatever her dalliances, she could also stand for the purest love. In another mural Lord Neptune presided over a fleet of the ships of men, high and low, ancient and modern. In another striking golden lacquer mural the four winds blew upon a compass rose while the angry sea churned below.

"Oh! I've seen things like that in Fuso." Miki said of the golden mural, obviously pleased. It was a European imitation of same, in fact.

The last was the most noteworthy, to them. A beautiful, languorous woman in a chariot pulled by a team of hippocampi, the sea-cows of ancient Greece. She was Thetis, the most famous of the Nereids, the immortal mother of Achilles whose grief so captivated Homer. In this same mural old sailing ships fired cannon, surrounded by legions of sea monsters. Jean approached the mural in disbelief, seeing that it had been made in the 1930s. Years before the Atlantic Colony or the Nereid Initiative were known to anyone. The Nereids of myth were a footnote of history and depictions of them were exceedingly rare. For all of those things to converge here was extraordinarily coincidental, even to the most scientific and skeptical minds. Nereids were not known for either of these qualities.

"_The Chariot of Thetis_." Jackie said, gesturing to the image painted on the ground glass panels.

"A prophecy? Or a record?" Miki said with wonder.

Jean approached the glass mural and gave it a closer look. Thetis was certainly there in all her beauty, the most famous of the Nereids. Most well educated people could only name at most two: her, and Calypso.

"How eerie." Eva said.

"So what? It's just a picture." Jean said, sounding harsher than she felt. Jackie uncovered her face, which was reddened and had a light sheen, and approached the five of them with a dark expression. The intensity of it was enough to drive them back a step.

"You all are soldiers, aren't you?"

After a period, this simple question garnered a few nods among them.

"The people who have told you that you are, are afraid of you. They want you to protect them from monsters, but when that's all through they just want you to _disappear_. Wouldn't that be the best outcome? For all those who have fought the monsters to vanish, lest they turn on their masters."

"Jackie," Jean said, sounding disappointed, "I thought you wanted us to protect _Normandie_."

"I don't want anything from people like you. Soldiers are tools, dreamless and deluded. Their lot is to die at the command of cowards and be forgotten." Jackie said narrowing her eyes. Jean took in an angry breath through her nose and strode towards the Gallian girl, cracking her knuckles. Briskie clung to Clark at the prospect of imminent violence, and Miki and Eva simply looked on with distant curiosity at the quintessentially Liberion-Gallian conflict.

"You've gone too far." Jean growled, not at all pleased with her sleight against soldiers. She would fight for them in an instant. Their bravery was greater than her own, since they fought solely by it and lacked the tools for victory.

"Go ahead and hit me! Just ask yourself, how often has your head been filled with visions of of the nobility of self-sacrifice? Your highest calling has always been to die and disappear, hasn't it? The myth of the true soldier ends with his death, doesn't it? Not with his survival, his marriage, or his happiness. A soldier shouldn't think of those things. He should think only of destroying himself. He has been swindled." Jackie said.

"What are you babbling about?" Jean said, now close enough to Jackie to strike her. She might even, if the girl made a move to defend herself.

"The powerful now want it both ways: they want us to save them from the monsters, and then when those monsters are gone we'll simply disappear. We will never have any thought of our own. We are tools. We are soldiers. When did that word, _soldier_, come to replace warrior? Warriors have their own dignity and system of values. A soldier has nothing but his orders. He is a rube with a weapon whose humanity has been obliterated by propaganda. Is that what you want for yourself, for the Nereids? When," Jackie said, and waved towards the mural of Thetis in her chariot, "we were once _goddesses_."

Jean felt strange. Her heart felt higher in her chest.

"Gallians. I swear, Jackie. Would you mind just telling me what the point is?" Jean said. Jackie sniffed with derision, as if it was an obvious point she was lowering herself to explain to a Liberion simpleton.

"You can save _Normandie_, but not as soldiers. If you abandon us now, let that rest in your hearts forever. What I ask is that you warriors, you goddesses, reclaim your birthright!"

#

In spite of Jacqueline's encouragement and the fairly serious nature of their mission, Jean and Miki had somehow managed to get themselves lost in another largely abandoned area of the ship. They stumbled into an unfinished storage room with hundreds of spare cots stacked up, an indication that the ship's conversion to refugee/troopship had only just begun. Jean paused and looked, trying to judge whether she'd gotten turned around somewhere. Goddesses, indeed. She was no theologian, but she was fairly certain that the gods weren't stymied by simple pathfinding. She was not at all in agreement with the entirety of Jackie's continental-style philosophy, but the girl had made one vital point when she claimed that Jean wasn't doing everything she could to save _Normandie_. That was true, and not to Jean's credit. Unfortunately, 'everything she could' would probably result in a court martial. Jackie wouldn't face one no matter what she did, since Free Gallian forces couldn't afford to be sending Nereids to the brig. Jean wasn't even sure, honestly, if Jackie was still working for Gallia. Events had muddied many things.

"Hmm, we're alone..." Miki said nervously. Jean turned to her with a questioning expression. "Even if there's no one around to stop you, don't touch me!"

Jean gave her a long and expressionless look.

"...I won't." she said. Miki blushed deeply and put her hands on her cheeks.

"I may look big, but against someone with such a strong will, like yourself, my superior, I couldn't do anything. If you made me do this and that, I won't forgive you, really, I won't!" Miki said, pressing her thighs together and shrinking away. Jean closed her eyes and framed her temples with the tips of her thumb and forefinger.

"I get it. Let's go." Jean said, feeling like she was playing ping pong against the other side of the table. Miki stepped forward and latched onto her arms, with wide, pleading puppy-dog brown eyes.

"Haa... you may take my body with force, but my heart will always remain pure."

"We don't have time for this. I should have known," Jean said as she stalked away, through the maze of halls, with Miki close in tow, "from the moment you objected to Eva's characterization. It's always like that. The ones who protest are always the worst."

"That's not it! You tried to s-seduce me." Miki said as she trotted after Jean. There was no way she believed that. Of all the paper thin rationales Jean had run into in her short life, that had to be the thinnest and paperiest.

"I figured because you weren't a dolphin-type, maybe you'd be different."

"A killer whale is a kind of dolphin." Miki said, with the mild indignance of someone who had cause to say something frequently and was sick of it.

"Oh." Jean slapped her forehead. "Learn something new every day."

She heard a subtle change in the ambient noise of the ship. Jean put her hand on the cool white paint and closed her eyes.

"They're working up steam." she said, "The captain must have given in to their demands in order to prevent a mutiny."

"If we want the ship to stay in the convoy," Miki said, "Why not just destroy two of the propellers? That would limit their speed."

"It's not that simple. These are Gallians. We have to convince them to do the right thing. If this were Fuso all we would have to do would be to tell them that the Emperor would have wanted them to stay with the convoy and that would be that." Jean said.

"I would never presume to speak for the Emperor."

"Really? Because from what I've heard, presuming to speak for the emperor is a full-contact sport in Fuso." Jean said, speaking of their well known vice of gekokujou. Miki looked confused, but dropped the issue.

"I know some people agree with that man, but there are a lot of people who are just being carried with the current! Like Mercy and those poor orphans. What about their voice?"

Jean had finally found a way out to the deck.

"That's a good question."

The scene on the forecastle was similar to earlier, with crowds of men in dark winter coats congregated in various cliques. There was that subdued yet excited pre-revolutionary atmosphere and the capstan that earlier served as a soapbox was now empty. Jean searched the deck for the demagogue from earlier and found him conferring with a few of his compatriots. He was one of the first to notice Jean and Miki, and dispatched a thick-looking fellow and another man to intercept them.

"Evening, Miss." the one out front said with unexpected politeness. He was black haired and heavily built, at least as tall as Miki and twice as wide. He looked like they'd thawed him out of a block of ice they'd found in a cave. The other guy they'd sent, however, was a real dreamboat with his auburn hair, boyish face, blue eyes, and proud bearing. Jean's heart fluttered a bit to look at him, probably because of her dalliance with Miki. The boyish one cast a wary and surprised eye towards Miki, looking her up and down once with unconcealed disbelief, to which Miki only gave a nervous little wave. Traveling with the girl was a bit like going around with a circus curiosity or exotic animal. The cro-magnon extended a meaty hand to Jean to shake, which she looked with disbelief. He eventually withdrew it.

"I'm owed an apology. All of us are." Jean said. He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, and her only thought was that he might have a gun on him.

"Mr. Marcou would be happy to. He was about to send for you. If you two just follow us to the Winter Garden, I'm sure there'll be plenty to talk about."

"He's sorry? That's great. Let him climb up to his bully pulpit and say so." Jean said. The man's expression changed for the worse.

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen. If you don't want to meet with him in private and work together, I'm here to say that you all have to get off the ship. She's already pulling ahead of your milk cow."

Jean looked up at him, knowing well that this was the moment when she might be called on to cross the line.

"I'd like to say a few words." she said. The cro-magnon snorted.

"That's not going to happen either."

"I have the same rights as anyone." Jean said, even though that wasn't true. She tried to step forward and found that, wherever she went, the cro-magnon moved in front of her and prevented her from going forward onto the forecastle. Physically blocking people from speaking was the oldest trick in the book of political grief. It was an unfortunately successful one if you happened to have superior force on hand. In employing this gambit, they flubbed that particular calculation.

"Miki." Jean said, and pointed at the ugly one.

Miki smiled widely and stepped ahead of Jean, passively blocking the cro-magnon from intercepting her as a fullback would protect a quarterback. The man tried to brush her aside and found that she might as well have been made of lead. A quick shoulder check from the Fuso put him back a few steps, and the younger man behind him just sat and stared dumbly. Jean then walked past the pair of them, glad that it wasn't much of a fight. She might even be able to mount a self-defense case in the eventual court proceeding. Once past the ineffectual muscle, Jean made for the soapbox capstan and hopped up on it. It had a magical effect on the crowd, silencing them and putting eyes on her, for which she probably had to thank Mr. Marcou. He'd taught them the idea that the one standing on the capstan should be listened to. She saw Marcou and his inner circle making their way to her already, so there wasn't much time. She still had Miki, of course, but if trouble started she would lose her chance to speak. She looked down towards Marcou and his lot, and waved her hand towards them as if in thanks.

"First of all I'd like to thank Mr. Marcou for giving me the opportunity to speak to you. He is a true friend of democracy, and an example for all Liberions and Gallians to follow. We two nations each have to thread this needle, and it would be impossible without the civility and grace of people like him." Jean said.

This stopped him and his bunch cold, and he plastered a smile on his face before the attention of the crowd was directed towards him. There was a general murmur of approval at the idea that he'd let Jean speak. People seemed surprised and pleased at her command of Gallian, and were more ready to listen to her. Jean smiled at Marcou. The crowd, of course, belonged to him. They both knew this, and it made Marcou smug. He waved to Jean, granting her post-facto the opportunity she had invented for herself.

"I'd like to apologize on behalf of myself and any other Nereids if we've wronged you in the past, or done you any harm. The only explanation I can offer is that we're afraid, and sometimes we make bad decisions because of it. It's an explanation, but not an excuse. We can do better and I promise you that we will. If you stay with this convoy, we'll protect you!"

"You'll abandon us!" a cry came up, followed by sounds of agreement which began to rise. Jean tried to cut them off with a shout before the rising turned into an unstoppable mindless roar.

"We won't! Not this time. We've learned a valuable lesson. 'Why should they?' You might ask, 'Why would they ever die for me, when they can slink off into the abyss?' Well, I'll tell you. I know you all might be tempted to think of yourselves as insignificant, I know you think no one cares what you do or say. You're in a low place and you think you're invisible. You are not. We are all teachers. With our behavior we teach the patterns we live by to our neighbors, our children, our countrymen. When we wish to know how to live, we look to others. If I abandon you, and you abandon this convoy, that's the world we're helping to create! For ourselves, for our children, and-yes-_for the Neuroi_. They learn our patterns too. Today they learn simple ones: shapes, colors, sounds, motion. Might they someday learn what it means to be human? If they do, what will they think of us, when they think of _Normandie_. What face are we going to show them. Your actions matter."

Jean fell silent to a collective mumble of disagreement with an undercurrent of shame. She'd been given a lot of time to think while on patrol, but none of what she'd said had ever clicked into place until just then. She was surprised, even at herself. Marcou stepped up onto a nearby capstan, ready with a counter.

"Those are rich words from a Liberion Nereid. Liberion abandoned us as you well know. Nereids are infamous for their, ah, _discretion_ in battle." he said. The crowd was immediately back on his side, with a comforting laugh of release, relieved that they didn't have to be ashamed. Said discretion was the result of the Nereid rules of engagement, which more or less forbade much of what civilians would call conspicuous acts of bravery. These well-meaning measures had unfortunately transmuted into a public image of cowardice. If someone wanted to suggest to Jean that Nereids were 'adventurous' and 'free spirited,' which is to say, strumpets, she wouldn't get too upset. She didn't like to be called a coward.

"I forgot to introduce myself. I am the leader of Escort Group 7, and my name is Jean Fluckey. I have fought and bled for Gallia, and I will die for her if I'm called to. What do you want, Mr. Marcou, a world dragged down by past sin?"

"The biggest problem with Liberions is that they have no memory. In the rest of the world we don't have the luxury of ignoring the hard lessons meted out to us. Someone who was faithless yesterday-why trust them today?"

"Forever, then? What about forgiveness? I'm sorry, I know you all have suffered in ways I can't imagine, and part of that is at our feet. I've already offered you the greatest amends I have. I'll trade my life for _Normandie_, for this convoy. Every one of us will. This time, believe us, we will!"

"Have you got anything else to say?" Marcou said. Jean had failed to win the cold crowd, and sighed.

"How about a vote? A simple show of hands." she said. Marcou sniffed derisively, looking out over his people. It was obvious that no vote had yet taken place, but rubber-stamping his ownership of them would be easy.

"I see no problem with that." he said, then bellowed "All in favor of going up to full speed?"

An overwhelming majority of hands went up. Marcou gestured to them and invited Jean to step down. Jean held up a finger towards him, playing for time. Finally the door to the Winter Garden opened, revealing Eva and Clark, and a stream of people began to empty out. They were the great mass, mostly women, who had chosen to remain below while Marcou was making his demagogic bones on the chilly weather deck. They streamed through the door for fifteen minutes, the crowd wrapping around to the fantail. There wasn't enough space for them ultimately, but there was enough for a referendum. Throughout this parade Marcou's expression successively darkened.

"All in favor of remaining in the convoy?" Jean shouted, resulting in a huge wave of hands going up. Now hers was the clear majority, by an unquestionable margin. Most of the ones that went up for Marcou before were now hers, the magic of the revolution broken for them. After the vote people began to retire back into the ship-even Mr. Marcou, who chose to vanish into the crowd. Jean sat herself down on the capstan with Miki, mostly ignored by people, although occasionally getting the benefit of a warm smile in passing. Clark bounced towards her with Briskie close at hand, obviously excited. Jackie and Eva followed behind, looking fairly frazzled. They had been given, after all, the hard part: rounding up the electorate. Jean had an advantage over Marcou in that he believed politics was primarily about words and ideas. She put more faith in logistics.

"That went well." Eva said, looking fairly shocked.

"Oh yeah," Jean said, "Three months in jail, max, for me. I was thinking they might just drum me out, but no one even got hurt."

"That was exciting! Was that democracy?" Miki said, pleased by the entire affair. Jean nodded towards her, since that basically was democracy, right down to the tawdry bits.

"Liberty time now?" Clark said, so excited now that she was practically shaking.

"Sure, fine." Jean said, and waved her off, as if she were shooing away an annoying cat. Clark grabbed Briskie's hand and ran off.

"Do you still have your Striker?" Jean said to Jackie, who nodded, "Let's get her to Doris. Guess that makes six."

"Seven," Eva amended, as unreadable as she'd ever been. Jean looked up, and followed Eva's finger to a place behind her. The crowd had dissipated on the forecastle by then, leaving a short dark-haired girl whose smile and dead eyes reminded Jean of a corpse. She was the only Nereid who had ever familiarized herself with a non-mammalian species: a bull shark. The girl was a super ace who had not only sent 200,000 tons of Neuroi to the bottom, but had also, like Jean, destroyed a Capital. In many ways her exploits combined Jean's own creative craziness with Eva's sheer skill.

_Prien_.


	8. Chapter 7 - Prien

Prien lurched forward, shuffling with her arms limp at her sides as if her small frame was a machine she was awkwardly setting in motion. When she started to laugh under her breath, Jean's instinct was to jump over the side before Prien reached her. There was something fundamentally wrong with the girl. She halted a few steps away from Jean and snapped her head up. Her eyes were black and dead like the ocean depths, devoid of any innocence or warmth. All of this in one of the youngest and smallest Nereids Jean had met.

"And what's so funny?" Jean said.

"Your ideas. Your country. Your 'command.' _You_." Prien said, and held her arms out wide, "If you crammed any more rank idiocy into that speech I would've vomited. Joyous day, the Liberions are here to save us. Spare me. If the gods didn't have a special fondness for little children, the retarded, and your country, you'd be doomed. You're so full of yourselves that you don't even see how ridiculous you look. I suppose that's what you get when you miscegenate."

Prien gave an empty smile, her pearly whites all on display. Everyone gasped when Jean brought a sudden and heavy right hook down onto her smug face, sending the smaller girl straight to the deck sans one lateral incisor. The bloody tooth skipped across the wooden planks and settled a few feet away. Prien went into a fetal position and held her hands to her bloody mouth as she sputtered.

"My toof! Ah!" Prien yelled, her eyes tearing up. Jean only started to feel bad when she began crying, which was-unlike all her other behavior-exactly what you'd expect from a girl her age. Jean shook out her own fist, which of course she managed to cut on Prien's toothy gob while making hay. Prien looked at her, oddly hurt, and managed to gasp out as she sobbed: "You sucker punched me!"

"You asked me to." Jean said. Jackie leaned back on the railing and didn't even react to Jean's sudden burst of violence. Eva meanwhile moved to interpose herself between Jean and Prien.

"Jean! Even if she is a racist, she's still just a child." Eva said.

"She's a racist?" Jean said, a little shocked.

"Miscegenation means mixing of the races. If you were just hitting her for insulting you, why didn't you do it earlier?"

"I waited until she finished talking. It's rude to interrupt people."

Eva gave her the strangest look. Jean frowned. She didn't see that she had anything to be ashamed of.

"Just bear in mind we're not in Liberion. You don't just hit people. This is a joint effort and I'm sure Admiral King would be disappointed to have seen that." Eva said.

"Vaddi, you don't know Admiral King. When he finds out I knocked the block off of a racist krau... _Karlslander_, I'll get two tickets to the World Series. Wanna go?"

Eva sighed deeply and simply looked at her, silently pleading. Jean gave a sheepish smile. Eva's words did inspire enough circumspection in Jean to calm her down. Prien crawled over to where her tooth landed and picked it up with a shaky, dazed hand.

"Where did she learn a big word like that?" Jean wondered.

"From someone you _should_ punch."

"Sorry I interrupted you." Jean said to Prien, "You were saying?"

"Er," Prien said with a sniffle, holding her tooth between her thumb and forefinger. When she opened her mouth now there was a little gap there which made her look much sillier. Her stunned face was a mess of blood and tears, a flow of which neither had completely abated. "I don't remember."

Whether it was due to youth or genetics, Prien's lithe body failed to fill out much of the maroon and black Karlslander one piece she was wearing. Even Jean had more curves to boast of. This lack of development and height was thrown into sharp contrast when Eva put herself alongside Prien to help the girl to her feet. Jean dreaded that Prien seemed to be regaining her wits, which would probably bring them back to where they started. She found herself the target of a black and petulant gaze from the girl. Even if nothing about her mind had changed, at least she'd been chastened to silence.

"Where did you come from?" Jean asked Prien.

"You'll pay for that." Prien said.

"Is that in Ostmark?"

Prien scrunched up her nose and Eva covered the smile that appeared on her face, a bit ashamed of her schadenfreude. Much of Prien's mysterious aura had been knocked away along with the tooth.

"Let's just skip the niceties. I'm not here to join your dumb little pod. I'm here to ensure that Eva Schultze, U-459, and the prototype U-Striker return safely to Valentin. None of these assets are worth risking over Gallian liners or Britannian merchantmen."

"A prototype U-Striker. Are you talking about that thing in the launch bay?" Jean said. She recalled seeing a Striker she hadn't recognized, but hadn't taken note of it at the time. She'd never claimed an exhaustive knowledge of the Sub Strikers of other countries.

"You didn't see anything." Prien said, her cold black eyes boring into Jean.

"Mind if I ask whose authority you are wielding? Admiral Dönitz has already formally attached U-459 to the provisional joint wolfpack 7EG, under the codename _Doris_." Eva said. Prien flinched with pure annoyance.

"When did Grand Admiral Dönitz agree to that?" she said. The news obviously took her by surprise.

"Am I to understand your orders come from elsewhere?" Eva said.

"It's none of your concern." Prien said. Jean was having a hard time holding back laughter. Prien eventually whirled on her. "_What?_"

"Your missing tooth! The more serious you are, the funnier it is. To top it off, you're such a little girl that you're hard to take seriously to begin with." Jean said. Prien angrily pointed a finger at Jean and turned to Eva.

"How is it possible you've fallen in with this clown. Where is your pride." Prien said, and found to her dismay that Eva was now smiling as well. "What's with that face!"

"How strange," Jackie said, pushing herself off the railing to bend over at the waist and get a closer look at Prien, "She is so tiny and angry that it's charming. C'est magnifique. Can we keep her, Jean?"

"She definitely has spirit." Miki said with approval.

This patronizing attention all caused Prien a great deal of stress, which was the point of it. She held both of her hands into fists and shook with anger.

"Karlsland above all!" she yelled to Eva with sudden intensity, and stamped her foot several times. This had the opposite effect from what Prien intended. Eva looked embarrassed, Miki was only confused, and Jean and Jackie clung to each other and launched into a self-reinforcing fit of laughter.

"Sure. We'll keep her. She's a genius, isn't she? You know how they are." Jean said after the mirth had died down, daubing a tear away from the corner of her eye.

"I'm not a stray cat, and I'm not interested." Prien folded her little arms defiantly.

"By joint agreement I am in command of all local Nereids in the vicinity of ONS 5. I am your superior officer. Welcome to Escort Group 7." Jean said. Technically she had earlier said that no one followed her except by choice, but there were exceptions to every rule.

"I could leave." Prien said.

"Remember to put that tooth under your pillow." Jean said, leaning over and patting Prien on the head. Prien reacted to this as if it were a bucket of cold water being dumped on her.

"I'd like to see you play tooth fairy. I certainly will, if you are foolish enough to try, seeing as _I sleep with my eyes open_." Prien said.

"That's disturbing." Jean said, and turned away from Prien to Eva, "Eva, we had better get to work. There's a few things-" Jean said.

"I'll inform the crew of what needs taken care of. Namely the transfer of Jackie's Striker and replenishment of stores from _Normandie_." Eva said. Jean was immensely relieved to hear this.

"Oh, the crew can do that... then we'll relax."

"Just so you all know, _Normandie_ has a movie theater. They're currently showing _Crash Dive_." Jackie said.

"No kidding! I've been waiting for that one." Jean said, genuinely excited about it. Hollywood had finally seen fit to produce some pro-Nereid propaganda. They really could use it.

They were rejoined by Clark and Briskie who had also caught wind of the screening of _Crash Dive_. In the movie, the female lead (whose name was also, oddly, Jean) wound up expending all her magic to protect the USS Augusta. This selfless act saved the President and freed her to consummate her love with the hunky male lead, who was an officer aboard the ship. The ending was no surprise to anyone who had ever seen a movie about a Witch, because they all ended like that. The Nereids who attended the showing greeted the formulaic conclusion with a torrent of collective tears, except for Prien, who seemed angry.

"Where was Karlsland. How can you make a movie about Nereids and not mention my country? In fact, no other country was mentioned. Are you all fighting the war on your own?" Prien said.

"Make your own movies, then." Jean said, knowing that she was just being defensive. She knew full well the movie was Hollywood popcorn. Most intelligent Liberions had been subjected to it enough times that they simply gave up and learned to accept it. In Hollywood, Liberion even won the _Peloponnesian _War. That seemed like an impossibility until you performed the proper mental gymnastics and realized who Athens stood in for.

"Maybe we will. Karlsland could do a lot better than that. We would show terror, victory, pain... and loneliness. The real things. Not this tripe."

Jean looked at her.

"I hope you do. But honestly, for now," Jean said, gesturing to the screen, "I don't think they could handle it. Sometimes you just have to lie to people. Especially when it comes to heroes."

"Don't group me in with you. I don't lie. I don't give myself away either." Prien said.

"Sure you don't!" Clark said, "You've got nothing to give away."

"The effects were very good." Eva quickly said, fixing Prien with a look. Prien folded her arms and glanced off to the side.

"Um, maybe it's just me, but, I really liked it. I guess that kind of thing doesn't happen..." Briskie said, trailing off and looking down.

"Lots of things can happen, Briskie. Anything can." Jean said, "It's okay to hope."

"So, I mean... didn't you say it was a lie?" she said. Jean bit her tongue. She searched herself for a response to this and, on finding it, found it so sad that her eyes welled up again. Whether it was a lie or not, she couldn't say.

"I was just being stupid, Bee. You can try to protect yourself by pretending you're better than something. I was just doing that. It's dumb... I have the same hopes you do. I'm sorry I was weak enough to say otherwise." Jean said. Briskie took solace in this and gave Jean a little smile. Prien stood up and cast a contemptuous look down on Jean.

"You are a moron." she said, and stalked out of the theater. Jean followed her with her eyes as she left, then looked to Jackie.

"What do you think?" Jean said.

"I have a bit more nuanced opinion. You're not a moron, but you sometimes act in a way that's indistinguishable from one. You're foolish in some ways, wise in others, and I think on the whole I would make better use of your smarts than you." Jackie said.

"I'm asking about Prien. I know what you think of _me_."

"Oh," Jackie turned her lip up, "Typical Karlslander. Obsessed with war and cursed with an overblown sense of self-importance. Boring. Not worth thinking about or talking to."

Eva cleared her throat.

"I have to object to that." she said.

"Eva, are you still committed to that 'no just hitting people' thing?" Jean said.

"I am starting to wonder if Liberion doesn't have a good idea, there." Eva said, giving Jackie a look of warning.

"Is she typical of your people?" Miki asked Eva.

"No! Greta Prien seems to have fallen in with a fringe political group whose ideas are, to put it lightly, very strange. If you were to reduce our national archetype to something absurd, then yes, she is 'typical.' However, Jackie, I think it behooves you as a Gallian and a lover of _nuance_ to recognize what a grotesque simplification you're engaging in to make that characterization. In fact, I suspect you're doing it to anger me." Eva said.

To this, Jackie only gave her a smile and a sly wink.

"Jackie, I like you, but please stop making my job more difficult." Jean said, on seeing her game. Jackie only lidded her eyes. No promises came from her.

They were soon back on Doris preparing to get a good night's rest. On patrol they had trained themselves to sleep in fifteen minute intervals, just as dolphins did. This was fine for short periods of time, but as patrols drug on they built up a deficit that could only be corrected by actual, old fashioned deep sleep in a bed. They were still human. The first sleep back from a patrol was always the most savory, so Jean looked forward to it. She was about to retire to the private room she'd been provided when she felt a tug on the white cotton pajamas she'd donned for the night.

"Eva, you know I can't." Jean said, turning around to see the girl standing in her bare feet outside of the Nereid officer quarters, downcast as she'd ever seen her.

"Don't leave me alone now." Eva said, not even meeting Jean's eyes. At the back of Jean's mind she understood that none of Eva's pack had reconvened, and they were all sleeping in borrowed bunks. It was an unsettling thought, one which she'd conveniently ignored. She couldn't, though, now. She gathered Eva up in her arms and held her. In her experience the girl didn't desire anything from her except a shoulder to cry into. She would have to be a monster to deny her that.

"Just tonight." Jean said.

#

That night the stately convoy of ONS 5 began to pitch and roll in heavy seas. The climax of the meteorological event was known to sailors as a force 10 gale, and to laymen in the rest of the world as a violent thunderstorm. Nereids typically slept heavily following their patrols, and could not be woken for anything. Doris was cruising below the violent surface on battery power, a bubble of calm to give the convoy's guardians a moment of rest.

Juliet Clark was the lightest sleeper of all of them, and even she had only been stirred awake in the middle of the night when the boom of a thunderclap echoed through the hull. She had no chronometer on hand, but she figured it was the dead of night. Even though she had wanted the bottom bunk, she'd lost a bout of RPS with Briskie and been forced out of it. The pajamas she'd found in the trunk of the small quarters were comfortable if a bit too large for her, and she decided that it was late enough that anyone combing around the sub would be on the night watch. There was something about the night that calmed people down. Even, she imagined, Karlslanders.

She rubbed her eyes with her fists and acclimated her night vision until she got a decent look at the sleeping face of Briskie. It made her smile to see Briskie asleep, since the girl was always so full of cares and burdens that the only time she ever really smiled was in the dead of night. She poked Briskie's soft and full cheek, knowing it would never wake her. The girl wobbled her head and hugged her pillow with a little sigh. Unlike Clark, Briskie slept like the dead. After a patrol, not even Zeus was enough to rouse any of them. Clark wouldn't be surprised if she were the only one awake.

She left Briskie behind and stepped out of their tiny quarters into the passageway, securing the door behind her as quietly as she could. The Striker bay was empty when she crept in and gave a conspiratorial look around, behaving like a criminal in a silent film. It was quiet at that hour, looking like a brilliant workshop. In the six bays they had five Strikers at the ready, and on the back wall were mounted two ready reserve units and Jackie's Striker. Jackie's was of a design that Clark hadn't seen before, which normally would have excited her greatly if it were not for the presence of the 'prototype' whose existence Prien had let slip. She approached the Karlsland innovation with caution, wary of any security measures that might have been installed in it.

"Let's see what you are." Clark said, and rubbed her hands together expectantly. Disassembling a Striker required special tools and knowledge, both of which she had. U-Strikers made greater use of a magical principle known as 'pocket dimensioning,' which they employed to store torpedoes and tuck away the dual-engine system into a smaller space. Any given U-Striker was much more expensive than a Broomstick, a fact which any Nereid who ever had the huge misfortune of losing one well knew. Clark had a knack for it and only required a couple minutes to disrobe the machine of half of its cowling, exposing the principles to her.

She examined it with a low whistle, not touching anything at first. She'd never seen anything quite so complex and well made. The torpedo autoloaders were of a new design and, she imagined, significantly faster. The mana batteries were of a type she'd never seen before, but they were marked with a bit of text which-if correct-meant they were twice as powerful as those on a Gato. Every U-Striker she was familiar with had two main drive settings: underwater, and ground-effect. This one had three. She wondered: _could it fly?_ No. It couldn't. It was still too heavy. The engines weren't as much of a technological leap as the rest of it. There was no way it could fly. The third drive had to do something else.

An antenna caught her eye, and she had an inkling about it. If she were right, though, there should be a matching one on the other side. As the storm continued to rage outside, she removed the cowling from the opposite leg and found something much, much more valuable than the opposing antenna. Not only was it there, there were a host of labels describing the function of everything. Those wouldn't exist in a production model. According to the labels, the third drive setting was that of a silent drive, to foil passive sonar. She tried to find the label for the antenna, and did.

"_High frequency direction finding?_ Neuroi don't communicate with detectable radio. Why would a Striker need that?" she said quietly to herself.

There was another resounding thunderclap which brought an unwelcome sharp pain in her chest. She thought the bolt had struck near enough the ship to shock her, but a downward glance quickly disabused her of that idea. She touched the warm blood spreading through her cotton pajamas, feeling a throbbing in her chest. It wasn't what she imagined it would feel like to be shot. She felt surprised, mostly, and tried to stand to confront her attacker, or put up a shield-anything in resistance. Standing up so quickly made her lightheaded. Before she knew it she was on her back, facing upwards at Prien. She tried to yell out a warning to the others, but Prien's hands were around her neck and the small girl was much stronger than she looked. Or else Clark's strength had left her.

Clark looked up at Prien, whose insanity was written on her face, and tried with her final strength to throw the girl off. Her last thought before her world went dark was of the others, and if they would be safe.

#

Eva secured the door behind her and turned to see Prien tied to a chair, her features ghastly under the red cage lights the room was lit by. The girl seemed positively demonic in that red glare, and her eyes spoke of nothing. No emotion.

"What have you got to say for yourself?" Eva said coolly.

"I deserve a medal for defending state secrets. Am I the only one on this wretched boat with a spine?" Prien said. Eva decided that attempting to make Prien ashamed of herself was a non-starter. "Where's that bossy Liberion. I'd like to see the look on her face."

"You don't want to be in a room with her, right now."

"Something of a _thug_, isn't she?" Prien said without even the barest hint of self-awareness.

"Even with magical healing, Juliet Clark has lost a lot of blood. She won't last long without a transfusion. What if I told you that you're a match? Would you be willing to-"

"Good riddance to spies. She's seen too much already." Prien said. Eva looked at her in the ensuing quiet. It was a half-truth. Clark would die without a rare transfusion, but Prien was no match. She simply wanted to see if there was any crack in Prien's inhumanity.

"Prien, what happened to you to make you like this?"

"Like what? Loyal, strong, uncompromising, tough, skilled?"

"I was going to say _hateful_."

"I am taking actions to defend my country. Someday the Neuroi will be gone, Eva, and then what? A grand conspiracy, directed against Karlsland, is being formed even now! Can't you see? The Juliet Clarks of the world are just tentacles of that Leviathan. We must put our own country-our own race-first. We must do it now, not later, when they'll already be at our throats."

Eva was visibly taken aback by Prien's warped view of the world. The girl was a genius, so it was incomprehensible how she'd been brainwashed by such nonsense.

"Whether it comes to tanks or ships or Witches or Nereids, we are superior! It's all there in the numbers. Are you numb to that? Our achievements outstrip all others." Prien said.

"A truly superior person-" Eva said, "wouldn't their empathy be similarly enlarged? Wouldn't their capacity for forgiveness and love be greater? Wouldn't their imagination? And yet, time and again, I hear these proclamations issuing from people who have so little of what I consider valuable in a person. A person who believes that violence justifies all, and the only law is that of brutal Nature, can scarcely lay claim to even possessing humanity, much less superiority. They're an animal, and not a particularly noble one at that."

Prien gritted her teeth and turned her head off to the side, nothing to say. There was a knock on the metal door leading to the tiny unfinished grey room, and Eva excused herself briefly. When she came back a couple minutes later, she gave Prien a dolorous look.

"Juliet Clark has passed away. For your own safety, you and the prototype will be offloaded to a ship in the convoy which will be leaving for Iceland."

Prien gave Eva the cold, gloating smile of victory.

#

When Clark awoke from the deepest sleep she'd ever enjoyed, the first thing she was aware of was a hand gripping hers so tightly that it was painful. When she stirred, the grip on her loosed and was replaced a moment later by a bear hug from a person who she knew before she even opened her eyes. Briskie sobbed theatrically into the pair of clean pajamas that had at some point been applied to her. She was laid up on the padding of a bed which was itself atop the dining table in the Nereid part of the ship. Clark opened her eyes and gave her best smile, and wrapped her arms around Briskie in turn.

"Hey, don't worry. I feel alright. I guess I have you to thank." Clark said to Briskie reassuringly, who looked up at her with watery-red eyes and gave another sniffle. A clock nearby related that it had been several hours since her brush with death.

"Um. You should thank Jackie." Briskie said, and looked over her shoulder. Jackie was close at hand with her eyes closed and her arms folded, looking as self-satisfied as possible. She wore her black swimsuit now, the one that looked like form-fitting shorts and t-shirt.

"Oh, were you my heroine?" Clark said.

"The very same!" Jackie said, switching her hands to her hips and giving Clark a smile. It was clear she wanted the story to be asked of her.

"Did you hear the gunshot?"

"No, as it happens, right before you were shot in the Striker bay, I was trying to steal Prien's tooth to replace it with a coin from Gallia. When she said she slept with her eyes open, I took it as a challenge to my powers of stealth."

"Really?" Clark said. Jackie nodded emphatically.

"When I got to her room, though, she was gone. I didn't bother making the switch, since there was no glory in it, but it did make me curious where she'd went off to. Imagine my surprise. You should also thank Miki. You lost a lot of blood. You wouldn't be here if not for her."

Clark looked around. Miki was on the opposite side from Jackie. Normally she would have perceived who was in a room, but she supposed she was still a bit off. Miki held her hands together with excitement.

"Oh, are we a match?" Clark wondered. Miki shook her head negatively.

"No! I am, of course, Type A. You're an O-! A rare type. I was able to find one among the crew. You can always spot an O from their determined, confident, optimistic character." Miki said, by way of explanation. Clark opened her mouth as if to say something, something that might have sounded like: but that's humbug. Out of respect for the fact that her life had evidently just been saved, she closed it.

"That's... great." she then said, out of politeness. Jackie leaned forward, sensing her discomfiture.

"We didn't trust your life to Oriental superstitions."

"It's real!" Miki insisted, "I've proved it, haven't I?"

"She did, however, manage to find a donor for your rare type before it was too late. She cited some studies, and... well, we sort of didn't have much time. Just be happy, okay!" Jackie said. Clark instantly saw that she had admitted to the very thing she had denied one second before.

By all appearances Miki took that as a vindication of her beliefs. Clark made a note to discuss with her, later, the possibility that she might have just gotten lucky. Not to prove a point, but to prevent her from doing the same thing again, to probably more disastrous results. For now she just gave the girl a warm smile.

"I guess I am lucky." Clark said, feeling a bit giddy. She often felt like that, but especially now, "Speaking of which."

Jean had entered the small dining quarters a moment earlier, striding to the foot of the bed with a purpose. She had Eva close at hand. Clark and Briskie had already discussed, to no end, what a cute pair they were. If only Jean weren't such a blockhead.

"You have an annoying blood type, Clark. Thoughtless of you." Jean said, the barest hint of a smile.

"I'm the universal donor! Thoughtful by design." Clark said.

"This is the problem with martyrs. You're more useful alive. Don't forget it." Jean said, and clasped Clark's shoulder. Jean had to get around Briskie, who was still attached to Clark's torso as if by glue.

"Type B!" Miki said, and gestured to Jean, who looked a bit surprised.

"I don't remember mentioning that." Jean said, indicating that Miki had gotten it right. Miki took the opportunity to grin at Jackie. "So tell me, Clark, what in the world possessed you to become a spy?"

"Am I being accused of espionage?" Clark said. That would certainly be a rude awakening.

"Not yet. However, it's taking everything in my power to keep this on the ship. The Karlslanders are angry and they have a point."

"Don't tell me Prien is still running around!" Clark said.

"Oh, no. Prien is under lock and key. Don't think that absolves _you_."

"Prien is part of some conspiracy. They're preparing to use Nereids to fight other nations." Clark said. Jean looked at her dubiously. Eva became unreadable.

"Have you got any proof of this?" Jean said.

"That Striker is designed to fight other Nereids. I bet they're doing the same with Witches. Trying to weaponize us." Clark said. Jean bit her thumb.

"I'm starting to develop a picture of why Prien was sent here. Eva. It's time for you to tell us what you know."

Eva's took a deep breath and folded her arms behind her back.

"There is an extreme nationalist faction within the government of Karlsland. They've been repudiated in public, but they've taken their war to ground. Their ultimate goal is a coup. I'm sure this is one of their works, and Prien is one of their agents. She was sent here to recover the prototype, I would imagine. My pack had been testing it, although I suspect only one of us was part of this faction." Eva said. Jean cleared her throat.

"Clark. I'm afraid you will face court martial once we reach Liberion." Jean said.

"I was just curious." Clark said quietly. She felt a little sick, given that she had no idea the gravity of what she'd done. She'd always felt free to take apart anything in arm's length.

"I wouldn't worry about it." Eva said cryptically.

"Why not?" Clark said. Eva only smiled.

"I just wouldn't. I believe my government may put in a note on behalf of leniency, given your age and level of maturity." Eva said, "At least, as long as you apologize."

Eva turned to the door and a number of the senior officers of Doris crowded into the dining room at the foot of the 'bed.'

Clark cleared her throat and leaned up against a pillow to speak to them.

"Listen, ah, I wanted to say I was sorry. I wasn't trying to do anything bad. I think Karlsland engineering is great. Y'see, I love taking things apart and seeing how they work. I guess when I heard there was something new on board, I didn't think about anything else, or that it might be wrong. I think good design is for all humanity, not just one country. I just didn't know what it meant to you all, and all I can ask for is your forgiveness." Clark said, and rubbed her hands together nervously. The senior officers of _Doris_ exchanged a few looks with each other, and then the Commander, Thanheuser, broke away and approached Clark. She was an auburn haired woman with a full, round face, and sharp eyes.

"Lt. Clark, perhaps after your retirement, you could come study in our country. Until then, though, keep your hands to yourself?" she said, a gentle chide given that an international incident had taken place. Clark nodded emphatically.

#

An hour after Clark had woken up, Jean and Eva joined a few others in the launch bay for Prien's departure. The girl was not, and never would be, a member of 7EG. In spite of Clark's transgression, Prien's readiness to murder a fellow human being had driven an insuperable wedge between her and the others. Prien was seated comfortably in the prototype Striker in one of the launch bays. They had, unbeknownst to her, sabotaged all anti-Nereid measures they could find on the unit. The hatch above her wheeled open, bringing the golden light of dawn into the Striker bay. The atmosphere was one of tense silence with Prien, Jean, Eva, and many of the senior officers of _Doris_ present.

"Told you you'd pay." Prien said, and gave Jean a smile of triumph. She then initiated the ground effect engine and lurched vertically out of the bay, carrying off the prototype with her. Jean noted it was sluggish in GE, more than an ordinary Striker. It was designed to be underwater. After another long period of silence the senior officers filed out, giving Jean a salute as they passed. Jean waited until it was just her and Eva before she spoke again.

"So. What happens now?" Jean said to Eva.

"Prien doesn't know Clark survived, so it's likely she'll contact other members of the nationalist conspiracy. I imagine she'll lead us to many of them." Eva said.

"It seems like something you'd be happier with. Those rats will scatter when the lights turn on." Jean said, noting Eva's pensiveness.

"If we ever win over the Neuroi, do you think we'll go back to fighting each other?" Eva said.

"Honestly, yes. Nothing's changed about people."

"That's true. But, in those wars, will we use Nereids and Witches?"

Jean took a minute to consider this one.

"Probably." she said simply.

"How," Eva said, "How can we fight for victory with all our heart when what lies beyond is worse?"

"You can do what I do." Jean said. Eva looked curious, so Jean leaned in as if it were a big secret, and whispered it into her ear, "Don't worry about it."


	9. Chapter 8 - Little Nereid

Shortly after Prien's departure, the six members of 7EG gathered in the launch bay. Despite the night's events, they were fresh and eager. Clark had successfully begged to be reinstated to patrol, a request Jean granted mostly for Briskie's sake. Jean folded her arms and considered them, unable to hide a smile.

"Well, wouldn't you look at you guys. It's like you've been together forever. Nothing brings people together like suffering. D'ya think we should send a thank you note to Prien?"

"I got _shot_!" Clark said, "Attempted murder is not a team building exercise."

"Clark, no offense, but if I knew what it would've accomplished for morale, I would've shot you myself." Jean said. Briskie moved to protect her charge jealously with a hug, as if Jean were actually going to pull out a Colt and do just that.

"Ha, you're such a poor shot you'd probably miss. That's the real reason you have to use a knife." Clark said with a laughing smile.

"Still, it's too bad Prien had to go." Jackie said, folding her arms and biting her lower lip. She then hefted one of the legs of her Gallian Sub Striker into one of the ready launch bays, the one Prien had vacated earlier. There were six of them-and six bays. Perhaps a seventh was not fated.

"Do you want her back?" Jean said to Jackie, sounding a little surprised.

"Perish the thought! I think it would be nice if we had seven members. It just seems like a good number for this kind of mission." Jackie said. Miki clung to Jackie's arm, like she'd said something unpardonable.

"Don't say that! Seven is bad luck." she said. Jackie gave her a confused look.

"Seven is a _lucky_ number." the Gallian said, correcting the girl on a simple point.

"The storm last night has scattered many of the ships of the convoy." Jean said, wishing to get everyone focused on the mission, "In conjunction with Escort Group B7, the Flower-class corvettes guarding the convoy, we will be charged with aiding all ships of the convoy back into station. Due to the high speeds the Flower-class ships are operating at, their ASDIC is compromised. Be on alert for Neuroi. Due to the likelihood of encountering enemy forces I will have us operate in pairs. The _Normandie_ is at the heart of the formation and all bearings are in relation to her. Eva and I will take bearings 0 through 120. Miki and Jackie will take 120 through 240. Clark and Briskie, 240 through 360. Before we begin, I wanted to point something out about Jackie."

"Ah, ahem," Jackie said, about to make an admission, "I can't produce a shield."

"Are you too old?" Clark said.

"No! I've never been able to. However, my ability makes it so that I can sneak up on enemies. Stealth is my shield."

"That's why," Jean said, "I paired Jackie up with Miki. She's very... noticeable. Not to mention eager to draw attention to herself and fight head-on. I think that makes for a good pair."

Miki grinned widely and flashed dual 'V' signs, excited even by the thought of a confrontation. She didn't take even the slightest offense at Jean's characterization of her.

"Let's go over everyone's abilities." Jean said. Since they were all in a line in front of her, she pointed at Clark, who was on the right flank.

"I don't need to breathe, actually! My magic takes oxygen from the air or water around me and replaces it with carbon dioxide. My maximum depth and underwater endurance is limited only by my Sub Striker." Clark said. Her revelation caused am impressed murmur among the others, since it was such an enviable power to have. "I've also been trained to use SJ-class RADAR magic. As far as I know, there's nothin' better."

"If you don't need to breathe, why do you?" Jackie said.

"It only activates if I decide not to breathe or can't breathe. There's no reason to most of the time, since it also creeps people out something fierce."

"It's weird alright. Briskie?" Jean said.

"People say my healing magic is very good. But I haven't learned about radio things." Briskie said quietly, and blushed. Jean personally doubted if anyone else in the world could have brought Clark back from the brink. If there was someone like that, she hadn't met her. She felt the need to amend:

"Briskie's a sweetie, so don't expect much of a killer instinct. Jackie?"

"My ability _Phantom_ renders me difficult to perceive in any way. When I am using it fully the only way I can be noticed is if I attack and there is no other target around to pawn the blame off onto. On the other hand, I've no defense. I've no RADAR class magic." Jackie said. Even though she had weaknesses, there was not even a hint of doubt in her voice. She stated them as though they were simple facts. Miki put her hands on her hips and smiled, drawing herself up for her own turn.

"My shields are as strong as any! My torpedoes are the pride of Fuso. I can use my power _Kaiten_ to alter the currents of the ocean to guide them to their target." she said.

"Wow! Can you use your power to make yourself more maneuverable?" Clark said.

"Ah, no. People have told me it's because I need a 'reference frame.' I don't know what that means! I don't have RADAR either, but who needs it! My eyes and ears are sharp as a blade." Miki said.

"Oh. Can you use your power to guide _our_ torpedoes?" Clark said.

"Of course. As long as I'm there, you'll never miss. Don't get lazy, though! It's hard to move them if they're too far off the mark."

Eva was next up.

"I have the power to see through the ocean with crystal clarity. Of course, I can't see anything that the sun doesn't touch. I can use FuMO 30 Seetakt RADAR magic." Eva said. Jean had to add to this as well.

"In case any of you are unaware, she is also a super-Ace. Over 150." Jean said. Most of them were completely surprised by this, and shot an impressed look over to Eva. Jean was next up.

"My power is leadership." she said.

"Bupkis!" Clark yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth, "Boo! No sale!"

Jean folded her arms and looked off to the side with the grimace of the officially called out.

"Oh, what about your probability power?" Miki said. Jackie gave Jean a sidelong glance which spoke volumes. No one beat the Gallians when it came to the efficient delivery of withering sarcasm.

"...right. Can't forget about that. I can also use SJ Radar. I'm good in close-quarters. Summing up: our task is to reestablish convoy formation with shepherding operations. Secondary objective is to bring some fish back to _Doris_. Milk, as well, if you come across any cows." Jean said.

"Cows? I don't understand. Wait. You don't mean _whale_ milk, do you?" Eva said, and was joined in her disgust by Jackie.

"You heard me." Jean said. The Gallian and the Karlslander hadn't had the opportunity to experience a truly extended patrol, and so were not familiar with the creative solutions such a thing required. "More for us. We'll make ice cream out of it, for the timid."

"Aren't Orientals lactose intolerant shortly after weaning?" Clark asked Miki. When the girl looked confused she clarified: "Doesn't milk make you sick?"

"I love cheese, milk, everything like that. Romangan cuisine is my favorite." Miki said, sounding proud of herself. Jean contemplated how it was natural that the girl had such a strong association with milk, and was met with another poke from Eva.

"Romangan cuisine is one of my many strong points." Jackie said, still looking a bit bewildered about the concept of whale milk.

"Oh!" Miki said, balling up one of her fists and looking excited. Jean took heart that, despite appearances, she had made a good pairing of them.

"One more thing," Jean said, "Did you all notice that the 'movie' theater had a real stage?"

"Yeah...?" Clark said.

"We'll inside land-based air cover the night before port. Since this will be a safe time, I've arranged for us to take to the stage aboard _Normandie_ for a play. The crew of Doris jumped at the chance to provide us with costumes, sets, and lighting. I'd like you all to participate, but I can't force you or anything." Jean said.

"Do we have time for such things? We should be training." Miki said.

"This is not the time for training, Miki. It's the time to have trained. Hopefully your past selves have done right by you." Jean said.

"What sorta play?" Clark said.

"I've adapted _The Little Mermaid_, by Hans Christian Andersen, for the stage." Eva said.

"Amazing, when did you find time to do that!" Miki said, looking deeply impressed. Eva looked at her dumbly for a moment.

"I didn't do it in response to Jean. I did it before we deployed." Eva said.

"_Ah, sou_." Miki said with a blush. "Still, very impressive."

"Those who are familiar with it-which should be all of you, honestly-know the original version of _The Little Mermaid_ is quite tragic." Eva said, "You have read it, haven't you?"

Miki and Clark shook their heads negatively. Eva took a deep breath, giving them a look that made it clear she was at least a little disappointed in them.

"In the original version, the titular character loses the love of a prince due to a misunderstanding. Her sisters provide her with a dagger and give her the chance to resume her earlier life if she simply murders him. She refuses, dies, and dissolves into sea foam, but is given the opportunity-along with the other 'daughters of the air'-to gain an immortal soul and entrance to Heaven through three hundred years of good works." Eva said, "My version ends differently."

"Oh!" Clark said, "A happy ending this time?"

"No. It's even _worse_." Jean said. She initially couldn't believe it herself, but having had it explained to her by Eva she saw that it made sense.

"Not necessarily. It only ends with the death of the titular mermaid and her dissolution into sea foam. There is no _limbo_ epilogue." Eva said.

This ghastly new conclusion was met with, to say the least, a great degree of skepticism among the young girls present. There were even groans and moans.

"An ending of despair, then, too Gallian even for me." Jackie said.

"What is that!" Miki said, "She dies and dissolves into nothing? What kind of story is that!"

"None of us knows what lies beyond the veil." Eva said, "To behave nobly without knowing you might be rewarded or recognized, to endure the arrows of fate without becoming selfish or embittered... that's a fine thing. In war many of the fine things are destroyed. If I lie to you with a story, how can we really face what it means to die? I wanted to tell you that your nobility is something within you. I call on each of you to answer as well as her when the same question is posed to you."

"Basically:" Jean said, "you may die alone, no one may know how, you may even cease to exist. But,"

Then she halted and a silence descended over the six.

"_But?_" Clark finally said.

"That's something for each of you to decide, isn't it?" Eva said, "There's always a rejoinder. Though the second is sometimes quiet, two hearts beat within each of us, and whatever the first denies the second reaffirms. The story ends as it does because we end as we do: caught between unknowable truth and unaccountable hope."

#

Jean's own heart certainly recoiled at the prospect that she might be destroyed and sink into the abyss. Yet, as Eva predicted, she had some hope left in her that could not be crushed. That was exactly as it should be for a living person. What the nature of her hope was-life, glory, heaven-she could not say. She only knew that without it she would be quite lost.

She and Eva had been engaging in shepherding operations throughout the calm morning when they had been invited via blinker to lunch aboard HMS _Sunflower_, one of the Flower-class corvettes which comprised Escort Group G7. There were seven of these ordinary escorts operating along the perimeter of the formation. Even if their 4'' gun was not be much proof against Neuroi, their SONAR picket was invaluable and they occasionally got lucky with a depth charge or hedgehog. The Brittanians stubbornly insisted on referring to SONAR as 'ASDIC,' a name Jean intuitively felt was destined for the dustbin compared to the much catchier Liberion term. Her people were, again, not to be challenged in the marketing department.

Compared to the cool reception they tended to get from civilians, Nereids always enjoyed the warm hospitality of the Royal Navy. In fact, the men of the RN were so politely inclined to them that the Nereids had seen fit to return the favor on some occasions which had come to light and many more which had not. As a result of these incidents, they were often given an escort whenever they came aboard such a ship. Seeing as many of these escorts wound up being the logical recipient of Nereid gratitude, there was a fair bit of politicking for the job.

She and Eva did a flyby of the Sunflower and saw at least a couple dozen of the 85-odd crew along the rails waving their black caps to and fro. Flying abreast of Eva, they turned out in front of the ship and began flying back towards the bow, drifting apart until they were a stone's throw from each other. When they got close to the prow of the ship it appeared they would pass close abeam along either side, which moved many of the sailors to split up to cluster along one rail or the other. Jean noted with annoyance that Eva had attracted the greater crowd for her side. Unfortunately for those wishing a flyby from the comely Karlslander, at the very last moment before passing the prow they performed a scissors maneuver and switched the sides of the ship each would fly along. Jean made a little boost up, rolled over, and stole one of the covers that was being waved towards her, to general cheers. She didn't see what (if any) trick Eva did on the other side, but a similar noise came from that direction. Jean imagined that she probably didn't even need to do a trick.

After clearing the stern of the ship and donning the caps they had each appropriated, they performed another scissors and bled off a lot of their extra speed into a jump, from which they both drifted down onto the stern of the _Sunflower_. Most of the sailors, a crowd which now numbered over two dozen, had hurried there to receive them. When they cut their engines and the tips of their Strikers touched down on the planks of the deck, the reaction was instantaneous from the men. Two separate groups of three seamen rushed towards Eva and Jean. One man took control of a Striker leg, preventing it from tipping over, and his opposite number did the same. The third man from each party waited patiently behind each of them-another choice job. Jean and Eva gave them all the brightest smile each could manage and tossed their borrowed hats back to the original owners, to a lot of laughter, and then gave them all a playful salute, which was returned in a raucous and casual fashion.

"Commander Jean Fluckey here. I'd rather be lucky than good!" Jean yelled with a wave.

"And I'm Lieutenant Commander Eva Schultze. Nice to meet all of you." Eva said. Jean would have to talk to her later about the usefulness of catch phrases. She'd stolen hers from a ballplayer. Jean gave a cursory nod to the one poised behind her, and laughed when his hands grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her out of her Gato Striker. He lifted her high up as if they were swing dancing, and then set her back down. Always fun. She was surprised when she looked over her shoulder at the one who lifted her from the Striker.

"_Tugs?_" Jean said with a gasp. Tugs had by all appearances fulfilled his dream of joining his country's proud naval tradition. He now wore the blue uniform of an enlisted man, the one with those fairly (to Jean) silly flared pants. He'd added a few inches to his height, a bit of real bulk, and wore a more flattering parted-on-the-right hairstyle than he had during that fateful September three years prior. He still smiled bashfully, as a boy would, when Jean addressed him by his old nickname.

"Tugs, huh." said the boy holding one of Jean's Striker legs. He was thin and about Jean's height with a head of wispy blonde hair. He gave a glance to the one holding the other leg, a black-haired boy who was about Tugs' height but more muscular.

"Oi Tugs, that mean what I think it does?" the muscular one called out to Tugs mockingly. Jean looked at Tugs sheepishly.

"Bugger, Jean. By the end of the day they'll never call me anything else." Tugs said.

"I never thought to ask your real name. Sorry." Jean said. Tugs held his hands out.

"It's Tucker Shoemaker. I sent a couple letters, but I don't think they wanted you talking to boys."

Jean sighed, truly ashamed that she'd never tried to contact any of them. In her defense, she wanted to forget September 1939 more than anything. Tugs gave her a appraising once-over.

"You got uh... taller." he said. Jean playfully slugged him on the arm. She hadn't exactly turned into a bombshell, but she knew she had grown in more ways than Tugs implied.

"Did you really sink a Neuroi without using a Striker?" the thin blonde one said.

"What? No. Who'd do that?" Jean said, playing dumb. Tugs must have told them the story and met with some skepticism.

"Tuck, you liar." the immediate retort came from one of his buddies, the muscular one.

"_She's_ the liar!" Tugs said defensively, and pointed at Jean. She smiled widely, but wasn't ready to let Tugs off the hook.

During lunch she had the opportunity to set the record straight, a tale which attracted such a crowd that she was eventually forced to move up atop one of the tables. Tugs would sometimes cut in and supply some missed detail, a few of which Jean didn't even remember herself. The greatest beneficiary of the tale was Tugs, who had been vindicated in every respect regarding his literal fisherman's story.

"I'll be damned!" said Tug's blonde friend.

"I remember hearing that Liberion had sunk a small Neuroi during Drumbeat." Eva said, "We all considered it a fairy story."

"Believe it, Vaddi! I have a witness." Jean said, and gestured to Tugs. She had named him several times in the story as Tugs, a name whose origins the seamen correctly surmised. His fate was sealed in that department, and it didn't help that he hadn't yet gotten another nickname. She was finally getting to sit down for an ordinary chat when one of the officers of the ship came striding towards her table with a purpose. She gave Tugs a frown.

"At least we had time to eat." Eva said under hear breath, no doubt familiar with the same sorts of interruptions. The officer saluted them sharply. Jean and Eva stood up and returned it.

"Commander Fluckey," he said, "We've received a distress signal from the _Bornholm_ north of here."

"_Bornholm_? That was Prien's ship." Eva said.

#

Jean and Eva made a too-hasty departure from _Sunflower_ and flew close over the gentle ocean at Eva's top speed of 180 knots. The Flower-class corvette was following behind them at her own maximum speed of 16 knots.

"I'm not sure what's worse, Eva. The fact that Prien might be dead, or that she might still be alive." Jean said.

"Jean! She's been misled. I wish you could see that." Eva rejoined.

"I do see that. I just don't see the difference it makes."

"The difference is that she could change. She's still young and impressionable."

"I didn't get that sense. Some people are just born wrong. There's no getting to them."

"Oh, and who decides who that is?" Eva said, "And, that being decided, what's to be done with them?"

"Alright, you got me there. _I'm_ the real monster here. No different from Prien, no sir." Jean said with annoyance. There was no response from Eva at first, and she began to feel a little bad for snapping at her. She often failed to live up to the reasonable standards that people held regarding what constituted a good person. She was the last person to be showing anyone the way.

As she got closer to becoming an Ace of the Deep, The Liberion Navy had been getting on her about being a better role-model to younger Nereids and girls in general. They had even broached the subject of a publicity tour which would pay very well, to say nothing of the embarrassment of fame. She had told them in no uncertain terms where they should put their money, but they came back with a better pitch that appealed to her sense of patriotism and duty. They had managed to wrench at least a _maybe_ out of her that time. She had no doubt they were brewing up pitch number three, for delivery once she crossed the threshold.

She suddenly became aware that Eva's gentle sky-blue eyes were looking at her, which snapped her out of her reverie.

"You are a world away from Prien. I don't believe anyone is born evil, but I also don't believe anyone is born good. Furthermore, you don't believe that either. You have said as much." Eva said.

"I have?" Jean said, then after a brief period of reflection, "Oh, I did say that."

Miki had faithfully conveyed the gist of her _Normandie_ speech to those who had not been present.

"You have such a secret heart. Perhaps someday you could show it to me?" Eva said. There was a note of regret in her voice which was leavened by hope. Jean held a hand over her chest and blushed.

"Uh, we're almost there. I haven't seen the ship's profile yet. Have you?" Jean said, redirecting the conversation to shop talk. Eva shook her head balefully.

"A bad sign. I had every faith the ship would make it to Reykjavik. Even if Prien is unpleasant, she is possibly the greatest Nereid alive."

"The prototype could have failed her."

"I doubt it. My pack had the pleasure of testing it and we encountered no outstanding reliability issues. It's a next-generation weapon."

Jean looked over the peaceful sea and felt her heart rate pick up at the facts that were forming in front of her. If _Bornholm_ had sunk, it had sunk under the protection of the finest Nereid with the finest weapon available to humanity. Jean still had her doubts about anything labeled _prototype_ or _experimental_, though, so in spite of Eva's assurance she found it very likely that Prien's instrument had failed her at some critical juncture.

"No need to jump to conclusions," Jean said aloud, as much for herself as anyone, "And besides, there are two of us. Eva, stick close to me until we know what's going on."

Eva dove briefly to get a picture of what was happening beneath the waves, and saw nothing but fish. On the surface they came across a field of debris and a cluster of four lifeboats, which had been lashed together by survivors. Nereids often came across these small and sad communities which had been forced by the Neuroi or harsh nature to abandon ship. They rendered what assistance they could. They had seen nothing of Prien, who if she were obeying normal doctrines would remain near the rafts until additional help showed up.

"Maybe she went on to Iceland on her own." Jean said. It was a nasty maneuver to abandon the shipwrecked, but it wasn't hard to imagine Prien doing just that. The crew of the _Bornholm_ weren't Karlslanders.

"We'll know soon enough." Eva said. Their reception at the boats was one of muted relief. She didn't know the exact number of people aboard originally, but it appeared at least 40 had survived. Jean pulled alongside one of the boats and cut her engines, making a splashdown nearby. She made her ballast relatively positive and gripped the wooden gunwale to speak to the occupants. Eva remained close at hand and kept a lookout. A weathered man in his middle-age with a bushy black beard leaned over and looked down at her.

"What happened to your Nereid?" Jean said up to him. Just as he was about to explain, a Nereid-it had to be Prien-breached out of the calm sea about fifty meters away from them. Jean whipped around and initiated ground effect. Cold tendrils of horror wrapped around her when she saw that Prien, and it definitely was Prien by her shape and the lines of the U-Striker, was now covered in gunmetal gray skin marked all over by dark lines and the occasional telltale red hexagon. Her eyes glowed an eerie red. Jean was too flabbergasted to raise her weapon, even though what she was confronted with what was obviously a Neuroi. 'Prien' shocked her even further when she opened her dark lips and spoke.

"Nothing to say?" Prien said, widening her glowing eyes. Instead of two rows of teeth she now had two curved gray plates, the top one of which was still broken by a gap. Jean no longer found it at all humorous.

"Prien! What have they done to you?" Eva cried, clutching her heart. She made to approach her erstwhile countryman, but was stopped when Jean put a hand on her chest in warning.

"The Neuroi didn't do this, Eva. This is the truth behind the hunter-killers." Jean said. Prien did a pirouette to show off her new body.

"We did?" Eva said, "What do you mean? If the nationalists created the hunter-killers, why did their people go after Karlslanders as well?"

"I wondered that myself," Prien said, "They didn't want me to Neuroify, but I knew I was stronger than the others. Now I see why they were so reticent. At the zero hour they have become weak and afraid because they know they aren't the true masters of this world anymore."

"The Neuroi." Jean said coldly.

Prien put her hands behind her back and drifted back, then forth. A Q-class Neuroi squid, docile as could be, quietly surfaced behind her and presented its back to the sky. It wrapped its tentacles around her U-Striker and held her there atop its back, just as Jean had earlier been steadied by two sailors. The sight of the scene filled her with dread. How much control could Prien exert over them?

Jean brought up her Flak 2cm, aimed it Prien's heart, and held down the trigger. She got off about 50 rounds before becoming frustrated with Prien's impenetrable shield. The useless bullets clinked down atop the Q-class once Jean halted her barrage. Prien responded with a volley of laser-fire issuing from her eyes, which Jean similarly blocked.

"Stop!" Eva cried out, "Prien, if you can communicate with the Neuroi, don't you see how valuable that is! You're still human."

"Homer put it best: 'There are no covenants between men and lions, nor do wolves and lambs share hearts; they are bent on hating each other to the death._'_" Prien said. She vaulted into the air and dove back in, and the Q-class submerged as well. Then they raced into the dark abyss beyond their reach.


	10. Chapter 9 - Vampire

In fifteen minutes they had all reconvened in the Striker bay of _Doris_, having dropped whatever they were doing and proceeded there at Jean's instruction. Fortunately shepherding the convoy had largely been completed and the Flower corvettes would be able to handle the rest of it. All six bay doors were swung open, casting the bright afternoon light down onto their U-Strikers and bathing the rest of them in reflected rays. Jean gathered them in a line near the passageway aft, just as she had that morning.

"I have good news and bad news." she said.

"Good news first!" Clark demanded.

"I've always been a bad news first sort of person." Jean said, "The bad news is that Prien has, in defiance of even the nationalists, become an intelligent Neuroi-human hybrid. The nationalists lost control of all of their test subjects and these have turned against humanity, Prien being no exception. These rogue experiments are the 'hunter-killers' which have been thinning our ranks. She can also control Neuroi in a limited way."

Jean paused and looked at everyone, seeing if they were understanding. They were, though their reactions were muted as one would expect.

"She has the underwater breathing power and an advance prototype Striker in her hands, in addition to a newfound ability to shoot Neuroi beams from her eyes. Watch out for that." Jean said. The first one to react was Jackie, who started to laugh.

"You almost had me going there. Lasers from her _eyes_, honestly. How absurd. It sounds like something out of a radio serial. What's the real reason you brought us back?" Jackie said, between laughs. Her laughter died down when she saw that Jean wasn't laughing. She then quietly said: "...ah _merde_."

"What's the good news?" Briskie ventured timidly after a period of quiet.

"The good news is that, in view of our situation, I've managed to wrench some classified data out of Admiral Dönitz." Eva said, "Neuroification research is in its infancy and, excepting the bestial amorality of the nationalists, not at all intended for human experimentation. Prien appears to be the only one who made it through the process with her intellect and, ahem, 'sanity,' apparently intact."

"Hey! That isn't good news." Clark said.

"Not for _us_, so much." Eva said. There were some utterly half-hearted murmurs of approval.

"There's more." Jean said.

"This is all bad news!" Clark complained. Jean made a gesture at Clark informing her her to zip it.

"The convoy is being tailed by a large flying Neuroi at a safe distance. It's probably waiting to attack under cover of night when our AA will be ineffective. Since they don't usually use tactics like that, I assume it's Prien's handiwork. That means she's planning to attack ONS 5, perhaps due to a personal grudge." Jean said, to which Jackie sighed and threw up her hands.

"You just _had_ to knock one of her teeth out, didn't you." Jackie said.

"My only regret is that I stopped when I did." Jean said, "So deal with it. The good news is,"

"Oh this'll be rich." Clark muttered in interruption. Jean pointed at her and a totally silent best-of-3 match of RPS transpired between them, the unstated outcome of which was Clark shutting the hell up. Jean triumphed and Clark scrunched up her nose in defeat.

"As I was saying," Jean said, "The good news is that, according to intelligence, Prien and the other Neuroified hunter-killers can't control Neuroi directly. She has to contact with them and convince them to join her."

"Behold, I retrieved some whale milk!" Miki said, and held aloft a bucket of the stuff. To call it an acquired taste was an incredible understatement. Alone among them Miki was unaffected by the news of a terrible new enemy. In truth the prospect of such a daunting opponent seemed only to energize her. Miki swirled her finger around in the fishy milk, which was pure white and had the consistency of a greasy, thick batter. She managed to get some of it off her finger and into her mouth, but an equal amount dripped onto her cheek and her pale cleavage. She remained blissfully unaware of the obscene image she had made of herself.

"See?" Jean said looking at Clark, and gestured to Miki, "That's good news. Everyone loves milk! Good job, Miki."

Miki smiled toothily and, when she clasped her hands in front of her, her forearms pushed her breasts together, forming a little pool of the thick milk in them. For a split second, Jean noticed, essentially everyone was looking at her chest. The Fuso's high spirits and airy sexuality took the edge off the entire team. Jean took note.

"I know things sound bad, but the bottom line is that Prien is not all powerful. The Neuroi she commands are the same we've all faced many times. Her mind is warped by delusions and taxed by the demands of controlling her pets. Her Striker is worse than our own when in ground effect, and many of its anti-Nereid features have been sabotaged. On top of it all, Fate has assembled here a wolfpack that I would lead into the underworld. If I were given a _choice_ of five Nereids, I'm not sure I would have done better." Jean said. Judging by the reactions of those present she had said, as she managed to say more or less the right thing.

"What I'd like to know the heck a splinter faction got that kind of equipment!" Clark said.

"They have their own research arm, aided by tendrils into our own R&amp;D departments. Unbound by the standards of decency the rest of humanity shares, they have progressed farther in Neuroi research."

"Nonsense!" Clark said, "Someone did the heavy lifting. I _know_ you _know_. Fess up!"

"Clark, that's enough." Jean said, even though she had thought very much the same thing about Eva's attempt to deflect suspicion. Eva went over and pulled out one of the drawers on the cabinet, removing from it a spare battery for one of the Striker units. Magic batteries were nothing new to them. They were a shared technology, like many other features of Sub Strikers.

"I imagine you've opened one of these up before. Even though you aren't supposed to." Eva said to Clark. She held the battery up in her right hand it was a jet black metal cylinder marked with numerous red warnings etched in red script. They were repeated in three languages. The top was sealed by bolts requiring special tools to undo. Anyone with an ounce of sense would have stayed far away. Clark had none such restraints, especially when it came to mechanical mysteries. Eva folded out a workbench and set the battery atop it where they could all crowd around.

"Nope. Never! That's grounds for dismissal." Clark said, looking off to the side and scratching her nose.

"What a terrible liar you are!" Jackie called over to Clark.

In spite of the serious injunctions against it, Eva started to unscrew the plate which sealed the battery. After she removed the cap there was another tube inside of it which they could only see the polished stainless steel top of. It had a handle emerging from it, indicating another apparatus that was resting in the protective casing of the battery like an Orussian doll. As a last measure of defense there was a keyed lock which held the interior tube in place.

"So that's what was behind your sudden interest in lock picking." Jean mused, folding her arms with interest.

"That's because I wanted to open Briskie's secret diary." Clark said. Briskie blushed and covered her pale face with a hand. Knowing Clark, after she'd deployed her skills against the battery lock, she might very well have turned them on the comparatively trivial problem of a keyed diary.

Clark's skills were obviated by Eva's possession of a key to the lock, which she inserted and turned without much ceremony and then hauled the entire apparatus out of its protective housing. It looked like the frame of a particularly modern handheld lantern, except in the place of an oil-fed wick was a block of resin containing a Neuroi core about the size of an eyeball. The tube was full of translucent goo that must've been relatively harmless based on Eva's cavalier attitude towards it. From the first Jean laid eyes on the black tube encircled with dire warnings she was given to the opinion that some things were best left alone, and events had not proved her wrong.

Eva took a deep breath and prepared to explain.

"Before the war began we found a Neuroi in Dacia which we named Vampire. It had the ability to steal magic from witches and use it against them." she said.

"Quite a foe! How did you beat it?" Miki wondered.

"That's a story I wouldn't be able to tell. The short of it is that we captured Vampire and found way to produce this. It feeds off of a Nereid and stores her magic energy when she is above water, and bleeds it into the direct magic engine when she isn't. One of these is inside every U-Striker limb." Eva said.

"So I bet the original Vampire was something really nasty." Clark said.

"Yes." Eva said, audibly halting herself before a useless elaboration on the point.

"And this version is just a kitten." Clark said, "But the prototype was an attempt to give it a little more bite. I get that it turns Nereids into Neuroi hybrids, which makes sense 'cause its a vampire and all, but my question is: is that how it is _supposed_ to work?"

"I don't know." Eva said with a shrug, "It's difficult for me to say at what point the nationalists got a hold of the prototype, and what they did to it. My suspicion is that Neuroification is an _unintended_ side effect which the nationalists then exploited."

Their conversation came to an abrupt halt with the entrance into the Striker bay of Lt. Loewen, the short and uptight communications officer for _Doris_.

"_Commander_ Fluckey," Loewen said, inflecting Jean's bogus title as she had every time since its specious conferrence, "We've received a message which you might be interested in."

"From USN or KM?" Jean said. Loewen shook her head.

"The message is from Greta Prien. It follows:" Loewen said, pushing up her round glasses before she began reading from a transcript, "Broadcasting on all frequencies to the brave men and women of Convoy Outbound, North Liberion, Slow, Number 5. I was once called Greta Prien. Since my ascension I have taken command of all local Neuroi forces, second in authority only to the Colony itself. As such I am now to be referred to as _Princess-_"

Loewen was interrupted by a whole garden of dismissive outbursts from the girls, which ranged from the understated eye roll of Eva to the offensive Gallian mutterings of Jackie. Jean's favorite among these was Briskie, who covered her face in a proxy embarrassment more subtle and damning than any crafted insult. Eventually calm reestablished itself among them, hastened on by a patient yet withering gaze from Loewen, and then the prim officer continued Prien's missive.

"Since my awakening I have come to understand that the Neuroi want peace. I am entirely capable in my new role of negotiating such a settlement between our two races. But for the savagery and underhandedness of the Nereids-"

"Oh by Jove, you gotta be kidding me!" Clark said, earning another look of annoyance from Loewen. Jean pointed a warning finger to Clark, knowing that the airing of _Adventures of Superman_ was at hand and she was not liable to risk further sanction. Clark folded her arms and looked at Jean as a child who had been successfully chastened but wanted to let it be known that they hated it. Loewen again picked up the script, emphasizing a couple choice words for effect.

"But for the _savagery_ and _underhandedness_ of the Nereids, such a peace would be possible. Your own girls have hunted my kind with little to no provocation. Our war is with them, not you. As such I am willing to offer you a mercy: when I come for the Nereids, and I will spare any ship which declines to support them. I will prioritize the destruction of any ship supporting them." Loewen said, and then looked up, "That concludes the transmission. She then repeats it in several languages."

"They have no chance of influencing the crews of the Flower-class corvettes or of _Doris_, the most important units in this." Eva said.

"That's true, but many of the merchants are armed. They could also provide rearming stations for our Oerlikons." Jean said. She still was toting around the lame Flak 2cm, but had located a cache of Oerlikon 20mm cannons aboard one of the ships and was looking forward to raiding it.

"Kind of a weird dilemma, ain't it?" Clark said, knitting her brow, "If none of the merchants help us, Prien'll probably destroy them anyway after she's done with us. The best outcome for all of them is for them to support us wholly. But... if only one or two drop out of the battle, and Prien is true to her word, they won't get targeted. There's a big payoff for anyone who doesn't participate, as long as everyone else does."

"So?" Jean said.

"_So._" Clark said, in the tone she always used to explain something which she considered obvious but wasn't, actually, "The ones who are fixin' to screw us over are gonna be secretive! They'll wanna win the battle but not have to fight. Then when it's over they're gonna say... 'oh, me engines had trouble' or 'we had us a fire' or something!"

"It'll be fine." Jean said, even though there was no way of knowing what anyone's intentions would be until zero hour. It was doubtful that inaction would be universal, but Jean knew personally that a ship's culture was a world unto itself. Oftentimes a single charismatic individual could sour any number on such concepts as courage and honesty. Like Eva said, though, the crews of the Flower-corvettes and the _Doris_ would be resistant to such appeals. She also had some faith in the officers of _Normandie._ The others were wild cards.

"So um... did you say there's a _flying_ Neuroi, and that we have only until nightfall?" Briskie said.

#

"We want to see Pilot Officer Katherine Stewart." Jean yelled up to the cluster of sailors manning the gunwales. She and her entire retinue were hovering around the base of the _SS Empire Darwin_, a catapult merchant ship in the service of the Britannian merchant marine. The men aboard probably had an inkling of what she was talking about, but pretended not to. They exchanged confused looks with each other and a smattering of shrugs towards the Nereids below. Their humble ship bobbed quietly in the gentle afternoon swells, not a cloud in sight.

"The catgirl?" one of them finally ventured, evidently too dull to catch on either to what Jean meant or the collective plot to pretend they didn't know. He received, for his transgression, some kind of blow that Jean was not party too but evidently caused him some distress.

The expendable Sea Witch, Kitty, soon appeared over the railing. She had a body rich in baby fat, _Rubenesque_, an odd type for a witch. Jean would bet that old age would not be kind to her, but in youth her unique softness invited close scrutiny. She had a dusting of freckles over the bridge of her rounded nose, an attractive look that Jean wished for herself rather than the birdshot blast of melanin she displayed. Kitty's long hair was a frizzy orange curled in tight ringlets, and seemed to leap out from her head with volume and bounce. Though she and Jean were both freckled redheads, they were distant cousins of that phenotype. At a prearranged signal they switched their engines to battery power, but remained in ground effect. Except for the whip of the propeller blades, it made for a quiet scene.

"It's a long way to Tipperary," Eva started singing up to Kitty, "It's a long way to home."

"It's a long way to Tipperary," Jean joined in, "to the sweetest girl I know."

"Goodbye, Piccadilly, farewell Leicester Square!" Clark sang, joined by Briskie and most of the crew of _Empire Darwin_, including Kitty.

"It's a long, long way to Tipperary, but my heart's right there!"

They had spent about half an hour mastering the entirety of the Tipperary song for the purposes of this serenade. When they finished the men along the rails cheered wildly. Kitty judged them with a steadily broadening smile and gave a wave.

"Come on up, the 'ole lot of you."

On the weather deck they were dismounted from their Sub Strikers by the crew of the _Empire Darwin_, which was unexpectedly professional in this task compared to the earlier treatment of their own Witch. Britannian politeness was a strangely contextual thing, but Jean gathered that since they saw that Kitty was one of their own, they felt a wide berth in abusing her. The Nereids of 7EG received treatment that was on par with, if not better than, they received aboard _Sunflower_. Even though the crew of the Darwin were definitely low class, which even the ordinarily class-numb Liberions perceived, they were regarded like minor royalty. It might even be the case, since Britannians of such a low rank might even view Nereids as on a higher level than themselves.

Kitty put her hands on her full hips and looked over the assembled Nereids on the forecastle with a pleasant smile. Her eyes were a pale blue, more like the sky than the deep blue of Eva's. She wore her country's uniform, which to their surprise was entirely complete.

"A Witch with pants!" Clark said.

"No. I'm not a Witch anymore. Decided to retire, I did. Just not cut out for it..." Kitty said, pressing her lips together. The girl didn't seem depressed as much as resigned.

"That's not true! You were felled by chance." Miki said, taking a step forward and holding her hand to her chest in earnest. Jean liked it when Miki moved quickly, since there was always some bounce associated with it.

"Funny thing about luck, see, that kinda thing doesn't 'appen to the golden witches. I just never 'ad the right stuff. Knew that every time I got a test back, or came back from an exercise. Knew it when I graduated at the bottom of me class and got posted to this 'eap o' junk... no offense," Kitty said, briefly turning to the crew and holding her arms out.

"Eh, none taken." one of them said, a sentiment which seemed shared among them.

"If I got involved in all this, I'd just put others in danger again." Kitty said.

"Could you at least-" Clark said. Jean clamped a hand over the girl's mouth.

"I know you guys are in a pinch, but with my Hurricat mostly destroyed I don't see that there's anything I can do. It's just the end of the line for me." Kitty said. Jean snapped off a quick salute to her.

"Go with God, then, Kitty. You know, they call me lucky, but I've had plenty of things blow up in my face. If you join another convoy take the same risks again, people will hail your courage and your luck in surviving the accident. If you retire, people will say it was understandable and lament that you were unlucky to have it happen to you. That's what luck is-a _story_. If you make it your own, _you'll_ be lucky... to be alive, to be young, and to be in a position to make a difference."

#

They were in the Striker bay of Doris, and back at square one. Jean had gone to Kitty on the assumption that she had a spare Hurricane. That was doctrine. Evidently one had not been allotted to her due to wartime shortages.

"Clark has a proposal." Jean said, and folded her arms.

"I have _two_ proposals. The first is that we go back to _Empire Darwin_ and execute Operation Guilt Trip." Clark said, surging forward to take center stage.

"No. Besides, her Striker was blown to smithereens." Jean said.

"Feh. Why did we even go, then? Proposal number two: we find a _radio_."

"A radio?" Jackie said.

"Yes! And then we listen to _The Adventures of Superman_, as was promised to me for joining a suicide mission." Clark said.

"Suicide mission!?" Jackie said, somewhat appalled at the concept.

"You can't be serious. Do we have time for this?" Eva said, propping her cheek on her hand.

"We're going to do what I want for twenty friggin' minutes or I ain't lifting a finger over the Neuroi or Prien or _Normandy_." Clark said. Jean gestured to her permissively.

"I've gotta say, Clark, I respect a selfish streak. Okay, everyone, you heard her." Jean said.

As the program drew to a close they sat crowded around a speaker Clark had wired in from the tiny radio room aboard Doris. The Liberions and the Fuso sat on the floor-Indian style and seiza, respectively. Jackie and Eva had found chairs for themselves and occupied the row behind. The radio got a remarkably clear signal given that it was bouncing off the ionosphere and back. Clark and Briskie-and also Jackie, though she tried to hide it-leaned forward with interest. The current arc had the Man of Steel busy battling the Neuroi elsewhere while Lois and Jimmy Olsen attempted a perilous transatlantic voyage.

"Where in Liberion is Metropolis? I've never heard of it." Eva asked Clark.

"It's New York!"

"Some kind of nickname? I know they call it the Big Apple, but-"

"Shh!" Clark demanded. The radio program began to end-as always, on a little mystery.

"Oh Jimmy," Lois' voice actress whined out, "While Superman is busy fighting the Neuroi, how will our plane make it to Europe with half our fuel gone and one engine!"

It was in a reflective trance that Clark turned the dial down and clicked the set into the off position. Miki balled her fists and knitted her thin eyebrows, her brown eyes burning with sincere concern for the fictional characters. Evidently the _Adventures of Superman_ had acquired a new listener in the Fuso girl. Jean expected that the program's earnestness and moral unambiguity would appeal to Miki. She enjoyed it herself, mostly for the same reasons, and of course it was a staple diet for Briskie and Clark. The program was, also as expected, somewhere below Eva's standards. The episode of the drama blew past her like a windswept leaf. Jean imagined she required heavier stuff to take notice. Even if Jean appreciated this perspective, she still had a toe in childhood herself, and-god willing-she'd never let it go.

"I got it." Clark said.

"Oh!" Miki said, excited, "How Jimmy and Lois will get out of this fix without the help of Superman?"

"No, how _we_ will."

Clark didn't speak a word, but went over to the Striker racks and grabbed a nearby screwdriver. She set upon the frame of Briskie's Gato with it.

"Um..." Briskie said quietly. More out of curiosity than objection, given the frequency of Clark's attention to that very unit.

"That's how Lois and Jimmy make it to Europe! It's also how we make it to Metropolis. I mean, New York. It's a question of weight and power. Briskie's Striker has an experimental engine and is the only thing in this Striker bay which has the oomph to reach the clouds. 'course, I hafta get rid of all the stuff that makes it a submersible..."

Clark gestured to the array of junk inside the Striker's frame which had to be sacrificed: pumps, tubes, torpedoes, nuts and bolts, motors, and the black-clad 'batteries.' The thing had to be a fraction of the weight it once was. Unwieldy, but flight-worthy, when the inordinate power of Briskie's unreliable engine was taken into account.

"I understand." Jean said, "I'll fly it, then. I couldn't ask anyone else to do something so risky. I have flight hours on Broomsticks."

"As do I." Eva said. Jean exchanged a glance with her, feeling a pang of competitive spirit in her chest. No way was she going to let some Karlslander swoop in and do something crazy. That was _her_ wheelhouse.

"Well, it's also based on a Gato, so." Jean said. Each of them drew closer to the other until they were pressed together, one hand each on the frame of the stripped-down Striker.

"At its current weight its more similar in handling characteristics to my own Type VIIB. It resembles a Gato very little." Eva said. Jean gritted her teeth, searching for a counter to this good point.

"Well...uh, I-"

Clark stepped in, put each of her hands on Jean and Eva's chests, and shoved the ambitious pair back several steps.

"I'm sure you two would be peachy, but this finicky magic engine is something I've been tuning for months. If either of you used it, it'd fail! There's only one person who can do this. What I'm saying is," Clark said, and pointed at a dumbstruck Briskie, "This is a job for _you_!"


	11. Chapter 10 - Twilight Struggle

While Clark carefully vivisected her Gato Striker, Briskie practically clung to her, serving her up with necessary implements like a nurse at the arm of a surgeon. The operation had a precise feel to it which Jean was loathe to interrupt. Some things had to be accomplished first, though.

"Briskie, come over here." she said.

"But." Briskie offered up meekly, but hurried over anyway. Her place as Clark's assistant was taken by Miki, who was helpful but light on knowledge of the internal workings of Strikers. Eva and Jackie both had more experience, but it wouldn't be proper to deprive them of the briefing Jean was about to deliver. She summoned Briskie over to one of the foldout tables in the Striker bay where she'd laid out a large sheet of paper. She handed a pen off to Eva and gestured to her.

Eva drew a quick plan-view map of the back of the convoy and the trailing Neuroi.

"Our friend is trailing the convoy at a distance of five miles at ten thousand feet. It has taken the shape of a flying wing nearly 200 meters across from wingtip to tip, and at least 75 from nose to tail. Quite a large design-a heavy attack type. Its range is not so impressive that it would be able to mount an attack in daylight conditions without the Flower corvettes and armed merchants posing lethal issues. Prien may also be hesitant since she does not know our hurricat is out of commission. So it's expected she will wait until nightfall and then pounce, causing potentially fatal damage to the convoy. _Normandie_ would be a loss if this were to happen."

"Oh, that's terrible!" Briskie said. To Jean's ears she still sounded a bit like a bystander, a person who had no idea what it meant for responsibility to fall squarely on her. While she liked Briskie, the girl was passive in the extreme.

"...Yes." Eva said, looking at Briskie dubiously and doubtlessly thinking the same thing Jean was, "The plan is this: at twilight the Doris will submerge and fall behind the formation. She will surface underneath the flying wing Neuroi, which we are dubbing X7, and launch you from the rear via JATO."

"Jay... toe?" Briskie said.

"Jet Assisted Take-off. The crew of Doris is currently welding the catapult rail from _Empire Darwin_ to our own boat. To obscure this work we have moved both us and _Empire Darwin_ into a position which X7 cannot observe."

"Is that the device which blew up earlier, on Kitty?" Briskie said.

"Of course," Jackie cut in, "But don't worry. Since one of hers already blew up, that means _your_ chance of failure has been halved! It can only happen so often."

"Briskie, that's bad math. Your chances are the same as Kitty had." Jean said, giving Jackie a check with her shoulder. Jackie's need to lie to people was nigh-on pathological, sometimes. Briskie nodded, confused. Eva took a breath and continued.

"You will need that speed boost even more than a Hurricat to become airborne. The good news is that once you are in the air, you will only have to aim yourself at the X7."

"I don't know if I can. I can't, really, fly. I don't know how" Briskie said. Ground effect was different than regular flight, to be sure.

"Don't worry, Briskie. We know. We're not expecting any dogfighting from you." Jean reassured her with a hand on the girl's shoulder. It was shaking, ever so slightly. Eva moved forward to offer additional details on the point.

"The Neuroi X7 is currently moving at the same speed as the convoy. She's sort of similar to a blimp-if you can make it to her, her back will provide plenty of opportunity to maneuver and fight in ground effect. Much larger than a football field, in fact."

Jean smiled, remembering mentioning to Eva the Liberion predilection for measurement in terms of sports artifacts.

"Jackie, did you-" Jean started.

"I've acquired several Oerlikon 20mm cannons and 1000 rounds of supercav in 100 round drum magazines. That should be enough for now." Jackie said, and gestured to the items in question, lying dormant in a corner of the Striker bay. Jean looked surprised, although she shouldn't.

"That was fast. Jackie, you-you didn't actually ask for them, did you?" Jean said.

"I requisitioned them without their knowledge, using my authority." Jackie said, and folded her arms smugly. Eva began to say something, but Jean muffled it by placing her palm over Eva's mouth. She was quickly silenced on the issue, but raised a finger signifying her need to continue Briskie's briefing.

"One thing that needs mentioning is that due the the high output your engine is operating at you will have, at the expiration of the JATO, almost exactly five minutes of combat potential. Two of these will be used in the ascent. You must use one for even the most precipitous descent. This leaves two minutes for your operation. Once you are atop X7 you have two minutes to locate the core and destroy it. Don't forget. If your Striker should cut out before you have returned to the ocean, you will not survive a freefall from that height."

Briskie took it in and nodded, quickly and stiffly. The girl was terrified and under any other circumstances Jean would never have sent her forward.

"Look at it this way, Briskie. It's just a big jump, and you've jumped plenty of times. All the fighting will be done in ground effect, and you know how to do that too. I'm not worried at all." Jean said. It was no empty statement, she would take one Briskie over a hundred others full of misplaced self-assuredness. Jean clasped the girl's shoulders and looked down into her hazel eyes. Wherever her words of encouragement fell short, Jean's reassuring touch and smile picked up the difference. Briskie managed to straighten herself up and, at least, began to breathe easier.

The sun had nearly set when _Doris_ breached the surface at the rear of the convoy. The submarine's nose pierced the air and then fell back down during the fast maneuver, and no sooner had she settled into the waves than all six hatches swung open. Before the water had even finished sloughing off of the deck and the hatches, Miki and Jean flew out of two of the portals and into the orange glow of dusk. Each of them carried one leg of a Gato Striker to the rear of the ship, where the catapult rail from Empire Darwin had been hastily-but not incompetently-welded during the afternoon. Jean had feared the apparatus would get wrenched away while underwater, but she had forgotten that the crew of Doris were Karlslanders and, therefore, incapable of doing a half-job of any metalwork. The rail clung to Doris tight as a drum, even after the emergency resurfacing. She and Miki quickly flew to it and nestled the Gato into the launch rig. It also had to be modified to accommodate the ersatz broomstick.

Eva and Clark were next out of the Striker bays, respectively carrying Briskie's Oerlikon and Briskie herself. Jean waited to see when Jackie would come out, but then turned around and gave a start when she saw the Gallian already hovering over the ocean close at hand. The only way she'd noticed Jackie's presence at all was by the wash of her ground effect engine on the ocean. Jean and Miki cleared the deck to make room for the next pair. Clark took Briskie by the waist and plugged her into the Striker without much ceremony. Jean glimpsed that she had a desperately worried look on her face, which transmuted instantly into a lopsided, toothy grin when Briskie looked over her shoulder.

Eva handed off the Oerlikon, and then the five of them took up positions on either side of Doris. There wasn't much for them to do after Briskie slipped the surly bonds of earth, except pray to Neptune. Their official part in the plan was to defend Doris and any other ships at the convoy rear in the case that X7 attempted to move forward. Jean had also gone over a plan among the five of them to deal with Prien, if she reared her head.

"T-minus 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... 0!" Clark yelled over to Briskie. At the prearranged moment the solid-fuel JATO rockets lit in unison and winged the Gato and its temporary Witch off the rear of the sub. Jean was relieved when Briskie faithfully executed the trickiest part of the ascent, which was changing her angle of attack after getting free of the stern. Even though the X7 flying wing was tens of thousands of feet in the air and at least a couple miles off the rear of the formation, it loomed in the sky, a large, dark wedge. Briskie's rockets then went dark and safely fell away, and they collectively sighed with additional relief. No rocket failures this time. Eva clicked in the dial of a stopwatch, and its tiny hand began to wheel backwards around the face, counting down the precious five minutes Clark had to return safely.

"This reminds me of something." Jackie said. She pinched her chin, and then snapped her fingers. "Oh, of course. _Icarus_! I suppose that makes the obnoxious little one here Daedalus."

"Ol' Briskie's gonna be fine." Clark said. Moments later the first volley from the X7 blasted against their companion's shield and arced past in a spreading flower shape. Briskie's shields had always been a strong suit. A few measured blasts from the Oerlikon peppered into the distant surface of the X7. The core could be anywhere, and unfortunately wasn't behind any of the hexagonal panels the 20mm rounds shattered. One thing Briskie didn't do was waste ammunition. She never took any sort of risk-unless told to, as in this case. The search pattern for the core was perfect and by-the-book. Jean generally hated the book, but had to admit it was a lot better than it was when she started. After all. She'd written many parts of it.

"Um... it's dropping!" Briskie's ever-nervous voice cracked over the radio.

"It's moving into attack position." Eva said. Neuroi laser weaponry had a mercifully short range compared to ballistics. X7 would need to reduce its height by 25% and its range by 75% in order to attack any ships in the formation. Jean quickly figured that would mean an additional leeway of 15-25 seconds for Briskie. She saw the three valiant little escorts bringing up the rear heel around and speed towards the approaching monster. One was _HMS_ _Sunflower_, the Flower-class corvette that had earlier treated her and Eva to lunch.

"Miki, Clark, and myself will move into defensive positions around escorts _Duncan_, _Tay_, and _Sunflower_. Eva and Jackie, go under and make sure nothing is trying to sneak up on us." Jean said.

"I've made it over the top-there's-there's something here. It's Prien!" Briskie's voice rang frantic over the radio. Jean thought:_ get away! get off now!_

"Briskie, remain calm and focus on bringing down X7. Do not fight Prien. Her ground effect drive is slower and less maneuverable than yours." Jean said, packing off her remaining calmness into the message.

"O-okay." Briskie said quickly. Jean caught the flash of a laser flowering out across the left wing of X7. The comparative narrowness of the beams confirmed her suspicion that Prien had already begun her attack on Briskie.

She did not expect that Prien would sacrifice her advantage of unsurpassed underwater ability for the sake of achieving surprise. Before rolling over to depart, Clark drifted backwards away from Jean and gave her a look which probably meant something like: if she doesn't make it because of that order, there will be hell to pay.

The three escorts were already mounting a show of fireworks when Jean, Miki, and Clark came to their aid. It was then that the first searing beam came down on _Sunflower_. Jean was none too soon. She heard the cheers behind her on the deck as the beam foundered against her own shield and spread out, boiling the water where it fell and creating a shroud of steam which concealed the Sunflower temporarily. The corvette resumed firing as soon as she was clear of the screen, opening up with her 40mm autocannon and twin 20mm Oerlikons. It wasn't much, but when either weapon connected with the X7 it punched a small hole in the black skin of the creature. Even though Jean had the same light guns they did, she couldn't hope to hit the Neuroi from her position in ground effect. She kept her powder dry.

She looked over and saw Miki take up a position in front of Duncan. She held her arms out like a conductor and the seas around the destroyer became smooth as glass. Jean allowed herself to be momentarily distracted by the power of this maneuver. With an utterly stable platform, the _Duncan_ let loose with a volley of accurate fire. Miki flew slightly ahead of the destroyer, creating a wide road of still water for them. She'd neglected to mention she could do that-although, perhaps she'd never had opportunity to try. Nereids did not tend to directly defend anything under air attack.

Clark fired continuously with her own Oerlikon-Jean at first thought this was foolish, since she had such a low chance of hitting the X7 at its altitude. Then she saw that when the drum magazine ran out, she tossed it onto the deck and the crew of _Tay_ heaved a replacement up to her. Even if one round out of a hundred landed! She'd only ordered them to defend. If everyone was going above and beyond, what was she to do?

Jean fell back alongside Sunflower and found the one she was looking for.

"Tugs!" she yelled. Her old friend rushed over and leaned over the gunwale. He was sweaty with whatever frantic work they'd had him doing. "Tugs, hold me."

"It's no time for lose your nerve!" the boy yelled down.

Jean flashed him a smile and vaulted herself onto the deck, touching down the tips of her Striker on it. Tugs ran and caught her before she tipped over. He struggled to right her again.

"Jean... these... things... are real heavy." he said, red faced with the effort of making her Strikers vertical. Normally it was a two person operation.

"Then get help! I want some stability in my life for once." Jean yelled. Before she knew it Tugs' former companions were at her boots and steadying them. Another blast of red cracked against her shield. Since she was at the very tip of the forecastle, it was just enough to protect the small ship. She responded with a burst of fire from her Oerlikon, watching the tracers as they arced up into the darkening sky. There had to be some point in the sky, some dim star, that represented the marriage between the arc of her bullets and the future path of the X7. She eventually found this guide star when one of her tracers broke against the surface of the beast high above with a shower of brilliant yellow, as a firework.

"Noice! She's a keeper, Tugs!" she heard a voice from below. She assumed they'd been talking about her crack shot, but a quick glance behind her revealed that the one who had said that wasn't looking upward. She gave him a wink when he tossed her up a drum magazine. If she survived this convoy, maybe she would make a Night Witch calendar after all-from behind, at least.

This thought and her buoyant mood were cut short by the sound of an explosion behind her. She watched with horror as the same ship was rent by another torpedo, which broke her back. In two halves she began to sink rapidly. She saw tiny black shapes move around on the deck. A few were overcome and fell where they stood. At the speeds the escorts were moving at, the ASDIC picket was ineffective in this sector. Was that Prien's plan from the start?

Eva breached the surface in between Sunflower and the burning wreckage and quickly flew alongside Jean's improvised 'gun platform.'

"Jean," she yelled, "There's too many. Without at least two more under the top, _Normandie_ and others will be overtaken."

_Duncan_ was clearly the most important ship. If one Nereid were to remain above, no defense could be given to the other two.

"This is Commander Jean Fluckey broadcasting a message to Commander Peter Gretton of Escort Group B7. We are withdrawing defense from _Sunflower_ and _Tay_. Recommend these slow to ASDIC speed under screen in support of Neuroi threat underwater. To Juliet Clark: abandon defense of _Tay_ and get on flagship _Duncan_. Miki Hashimoto-submerge and join Jackie."

"The hell you are!" Clark came back over the radio, "We've got this thing on the ropes. Briskie is almost out of time!"

While she was relaying orders, another ship was broken by a pair of quick explosions. She blocked one more shot meant for _Sunflower_, and then the ship sailed right on through the protective shroud this created.

Jean looked at Tugs with dread. Tugs gave her a grim smile and a salute. She looked over to distant Clark, the sole defender now.

"Briskie, jump! You have to go now!" Clark cried out over the radio. Briskie's time had, indeed, came and went. Whatever the next 45 seconds held, they were not going to turn out well for her. As long as Clark remained in defense of _Tay_, there was a chance of a lucky shot. Jean consoled herself with these thoughts before she joined up with Eva and dove alongside her. Under the waves, she rolled over and saw a bright flash outline the hull of _Sunflower_.

The world below the waves revealed a dreadful menagerie of Neuroi fresh from the Atlantic Colony. There were swarms of Trilobites darting among them, which were small, annoying, quick. They were hardly worth anything in terms of the Aces list, and were also hard to kill. The one benefit about fighting Neuroi underwater was that their telltale red glow often gave them away well beyond ordinary ranges. The corvettes and frigates of the convoy had their SONAR going as well, and when these pings hit her she was able to get a sense of things, almost supernaturally, as if she were seeing them with her eyes. Not nearly the same resolution, but enough to direct her to one place or another. She'd never seen Neuroi out in force quite like this. Prien was a bad influence on them.

She chose the largest threat worthy of her attention. It wasn't an animal type like most Atlantic Colony Neuroi, but resembled more the machinelike Neuroi produced by hives. It was appropriate, since it could also 'fly' in ground effect like the Nereids; another thing the Atlantic Colony had mimicked. It had the body of a floatplane and two thick, stubby wings, and a series of what looked like engine nacelles running along the spine of its back.

Destroyers posed a mild threat to ships, but what they were really after were Nereids. It was best to get them before they surfaced, since they were slightly faster than most Nereids and their weaponry was dangerous and, even worse, did a number on one's mental state. Jean closed in and loosed a couple of torpedoes at the body of the thing. They impacted, both successful detonations. She took great pleasure every time her torpedoes exploded ever since the bad year of 1942. The destruction revealed the core, but it was no kill yet. Eva was a crack shot with her Flak 2cm and the often frustrating underwater bullets and lanced the core of the beast, a flash of white briefly illuminating the deep. They turned their attention to the 'bites, which were no larger than the wheel of a car.

About fifteen of them were approaching Eva and Jean, who didn't even need a word or look between them to know that this called for them to put a good distance between them. When each of these small creatures arrived at a point about fifteen meters away, they'd accelerate to double speed and dumbly follow the last intercept course to the Nereid herself. The lead one had chosen Jean and followed its programming, lancing towards her last course. She tracked it with her eyes until it had made its decision. Dodging them was a decision that had to be made in a quarter of a second following their attack point.

The one that sailed through the space Jean would have occupied otherwise detonated itself, sending a shockwave through the water that Jean blocked with a shield. There was, as always, a silver lining-Trilobites had to attack one at a time, since if they did it at the same time they would destroy one another. So after the first one had its high-angle attack, always the most difficult to dodge, the next six trailed Jean and would all come from the same predictable place. Without even looking, she rolled to the right and put up a shield in time to see her small enemy appear there and detonate itself. Then she flipped over and cut her engines, feeling the incredible surge of ocean at her back, and charged the whole stack of them. The lead one charged her in turn. The next seven-she'd evidently gotten the wrong end of the split with Eva-succumbed to a steam of fire from Jean's Oerlikon. The supercavitating bullets left a stream of gas that made it look like they were being skewered with long, ephemeral icicles. A single bullet down the throat broke apart the first and second in line into chaff. The others broke apart with similar economy.

She looked over to see Eva was still dealing with the last of her split using the patient strategy of waiting them out and blocking them. Jean rose up and shot away the remaining two, and then appeared in the location Eva was expecting the next one. Eva's eyes widened in surprise and Jean flashed her the V sign. Jean's heart lifted up when they quickly overtook a pair of mantas and bracketed them with an inescapable volley of 8 torpedoes between the two of them, every single one of which hit. She turned towards Eva and found that Eva had turned towards her in kind, and they crossed each other's paths before meeting up again. It had been a long time since she'd had a partner like that.

The Mantas had unleashed torpedoes of their own at the convoy. There were about a eighteen of of those black sidecars churning off towards _Normandie_. With only a look she and Eva breached the surface and sprinted to the intercept. Jean winced preemptively before the crash dive, and then she again felt the palm of Neptune come down on her for intruding on his realm in such haste. Jean chucked her Oerlikon into the depths, even though it still had most of the magazine. To her surprise, Eva did the same. There was a first time for everything.

They were both seeing the same thing-namely, that there was not enough time to safely deal with 18 torpedoes. It was not safe to engage a torpedo at gun range and there wasn't enough time to destroy their ballast tanks individually. Pushing them away from _Normandie_ would just result in them running to another ship in the convoy, given the density of the formation.

Jean gave Eva a simple signal for a rather complex plan, and hoped she understood. There was a chance-she knew each volley of torpedoes was loosed from symmetrical portals on either wing of the manta. That meant, if they were running normally-and Neuroi technology always performed flawlessly-there was a way. Eva raised her eyebrows and nodded, and they each took up a position alongside two torpedoes from the same volley and shoved them off course by with their shoulders. Jean and Eva then got well clear when their parallel course became a converging one. Each blew up the other, and the wave of compression Jean felt uncomfortably pass over her made her glad she wasn't nearby. They repeated the strategy for three more pairs, but it was quickly becoming obvious as _Normandie's_ hull loomed into view that they would not make it. Four of the fish were about to bury themselves into _Normandie's_ starboard side. That was a death sentence even for a warship. For a civilian ship, any one of them would probably do.

Miki finally made her appearance near the bow and sent two of the torpedoes under the hull with her Kaiten power. Jackie dispatched one more aimed amidships by lancing the ballast with her knife. There was only one left, the one furthest astern, which appeared that it couldn't be stopped. Jackie had other ideas, though, and brandished her Oerlikon to close into range. Surely she wasn't planning to detonate a torpedo without even the benefit of a shield! Jackie breached the surface above the torpedo and fired directly down at it. Jean went above as well to see what was going to become of her after this unwise maneuver. The torpedo exploded under her, and the Gallian girl disappeared into the column of water. She was thrown up and into the side of the _Normandie_ with enough force to dent her Striker, then fell unreactive back into the water. Miki came up from below and pulled the emergency release on Jackie's Striker before gingerly collecting her.

"Take her back to _Doris_!" Jean said.

#

Marie Zabriskie had never been so aware of how many bullets were left in her weapon. Her allotted time on the back of the flying wing was drawing to a close-she had three bullets and no idea where the core was. She also had another monster who was once Greta Prien testing her defenses at every turn.

"What's the matter, can't find it? Not going to go home, get married, all that crap?" Prien taunted her, and punctuated it with another volley of her own lasers. They were weaker than a large Neuroi, and Briskie had strong shields, but she was reaching the end of her limit there as well. She risked a shot over to the tail section, shattering off a panel. Nothing. That was four minutes, and the official end of her time. She figured she still had a few seconds due to the Neuroi being lower than she started, even though she didn't know how many exactly.

She swung the gun around and shot off a panel on the wing, and found in her nervousness she'd let the second and last round go through as well. There, incredibly-at last!-was the core. She breathed heavily as her Oerlikon clicked uselessly in her hands. She was standing on the other wing, and Prien flew in between her and her objective. Each of them drew their knives. Briskie had never had any confidence in that part, and it must have shown.

"You're shaking like a leaf. Time's up! I don't really mind you, you know. Why don't you just slip away and wait for the end of the world like a good girl?" Prien said.

"I have to stop you..." Briskie said quietly.

"Huh? What?" Prien said, cupping a hand around her ear.

"I have to stop you!" Briskie yelled. Prien looked at her piteously and sighed.

"You can't stop me any more than a dog stops the wheel of a car."

Briskie leaned forward and charged towards Prien, then, when she reached the critical point, jumped. Prien was expecting that, but was not expecting that her jump-her Gato having been suitably modified-would range so high. Nor was she expecting such a pinpoint accurate landing on Briskie's part. If either of these tricky factors had fallen short, it never would have worked. But she got there first, and buried the knife in the evil core. Prien was immediately on her, and as the Neuroi dissolved under them she was hellbent on taking Briskie's life in exchange. Even if Prien let her go, the fall would kill her anyway. Briskie closed her eyes tightly in terror and waited for the blow to fall.

It didn't, so she tentatively rolled over and immediately broke into a smile. Kitty the Sea Witch was holding a broomstick in one hand and Prien's wrist in the other. The Britannian tossed the broomstick to Briskie, who caught it wide-eyed. She kicked Prien between her legs, which bent the girl over. Prien was still in ground effect and went flying backwards from the force. Kitty followed up with another blow which materialized the force of a magic shield behind it. Prien shrieked as she, though far from defeated, fell off the edge of the dissolving Neuroi and down towards the ocean.

"This sky belongs to Britannia!" Kitty said. The Neuroi X7 evaporated into glowing white confetti underneath them, and Clark climbed on the back of her broomstick, clinging to her as the second rider on a motorcycle. She found she still had a little bit of magic left in her. Enough to slow their descent, at least, with both of them on the broom and Kitty straining to keep their velocity something less than terminal. They fell through the twilight sky and finally splashed down. It was Clark's turn to support Kitty now.

After a few minutes of floating they were dismayed to see that Prien appeared and began to approach them. She had survived the fall herself-of course, her hybrid Neuroi body could probably survive terminal velocity. At most the fall dazed her, to which they might owe their minutes of solace. The little Neuroi hybrid didn't attack them but backed away, and her eyes narrowed. Her hesitation was a mystery to Briskie until Clark faded into view with an Oerlikon fixed on her. Clark opened up immediately and did not stop firing, to which Prien at first was arrogantly ignoring until one of the shots, which was one of the last in the magazine, broke her shield like a pane of pressurized glass and buried itself in her leg. Prien gave out a cry and began leaking what appeared to be black blood.

"Even steven." Clark said, in the singsong way of taunting youth. "And she bleeds! I mean, it kind of looks like _oil_, but. Still!" Clark said, smiling to Briskie and Kitty. Kitty was morose at having come in contact with the hated water, and limply clung to the floating broomstick.

"You're alive..." Prien gritted her metallic teeth and gave Clark a look of utter hatred. Heedless of her wound, she jumped towards Clark with a knife and managed to disarm her prey of the Oerlikon. It sailed out of Clark's hands and splashed into the ocean. Prien again moved in for the attack and began to force the blade of her knife into Clark's shield through sheer power of hatred. Even exhausted, Briskie cleared the surface with her lightened Striker and wrapped her arms out her friend, adding the strength of her shield. Prien did not advance another inch.

She was forced to back away from Clark when Jean appeared behind her and aimed an Oerlikon at Prien.

"The Colony won't accept me if I don't deliver them a victory. I will destroy this convoy and every Nereid protecting it, to demonstrate my... our greatness!" Prien said.

"Prien, did you know that you're the loneliest person on the planet?" Jean said, "You thought you were lonely before, because that's what being a genius is like, but I can't even imagine how you feel _now_ that you've alienated all of humanity. Maybe that's why you're so damn chatty when we run across you."

Miki and Eva then came up behind Jean. No Jackie, though.

"Then there were five." Prien said, pleased at her victory.

"Six." Kitty said, still treading water. Prien looked at her and sniffed, then cried out in pain and arched her back, her eyes suddenly wide. At first the source of this was a mystery to everyone, but when Prien stumbled out of the way they saw the black handle of a knife jutting from Prien's back. Prien tumbled forward into the water, and then activated her Striker and fled off into the depths.

"And lucky number seven." Jackie said, now visible immediately behind Prien. She looked like she'd been beaten by a mob, and her right arm was was limp and obviously broken. She was using as her Striker the spare Type VII that was in the bay.

Jean smiled.

"Seven it is. Lucky 7!" she said.

#

When they returned from the twilight battle, they'd found that 7EG was joined by one more. That made seven, Jackie's prophesied number, and gave natural rise to their name: Lucky 7.

Katherine Hay, aka Kitty, had delivered the half of her Sea Hurricane that was basically intact to the Striker bay. It had some minor damage to it, but nothing beyond the scope of a good mechanic.

"I mean, I'm pretty good at repairing stuff, but there's nothin' here to repair. The second leg is just _gone._"Clarksaid. Several members of the crew of _Doris_ hauled in crates afterwards.

"Right, but see, there's a second 'urricat," Kitty said, "In those boxes there! Got enough spare parts for two."

"I also have to put Briskie's Sub Striker back together before Prien attacks again. I ain't got time for this."

"If it's too much for you, no 'elpin' it."

"_Hold_ on. I didn't say it was beyond me. I'll do it. But Jackie-where is Jackie?" Clark said, and looked for the missing person in the oddest of places. In a toolbox, for example.

"She's making dinner." Jean said.

"Oh, that's good, I like that, I approve," Clark said, and coughed, and pointed at Eva, "Then... _you_. You'll have to put Briskie's back together, if I'm going to have the time to do all this junk. From the way you handled that battery earlier, I know you're no dummy."

Eva took a deep breath and folded her hands in front of her, lidding her eyes to Clark.

"Lieutenant Clark, I am your superior officer. As such, I don't take orders from you. Consider yourself lucky I am in a good mood from our victory and don't see fit to reprimand you over your presumptuousness."

Clark turned on her heels and looked at Jean, who put her hands behind her head and looked upward. She hated this part about the military, even though she knew it was time tested and utterly necessary.

"Eva, I would greatly appreciate it if-"

"Of course! Only say the word." Eva said, smiling widely. At the same time she picked up a spanner and put Briskie's Striker legs onto one of the foldout skids in the Striker bay. Clark hauled over one of the crates containing the spare 'Sea Hurricane and looked into it balefully. Hundreds of little metal bits, some of them damaged, none of them labeled. A phonebook sized manual regarding the innards of the device. Kitty attempted to skitter away, but Clark caught her by hem of her panties. Kitty froze, knowing the vulnerable position she was in.

"Where do you think you're going." Clark said, with the same dry and dark voice a mummy would use.

As it happened they chose to eat in the Striker bay, and Clark found a more competent helper in Jackie once the girl was freed up from dinner. The Gallian naturally wanted to relax following her hard day and her preparation for dinner, but Jean guilt-tripped her by recalling instances of Gallian bravery and endurance from the First Neuroi War. Patriotism had long been Jackie's weak point.

One thing Jackie had done of her own volition was deliver them a dinner worth remembering. Partly due to what they'd gone through, partly due to hunger, and partly due to a week of want, they practically groaned to taste real food. Jackie described it as 'only' basque chicken with (horror!) _canned_ tomatoes and peppers.

"Delicious!" Miki said, closing her eyes in appreciation. Jackie looked smug and reveled in any praise offered to her, which was at this juncture not slow in coming. Jean knew Jackie was fueled by a desire to establish and maintain a sense of superiority over others. It hadn't escaped her notice, though, how well the girl had parlayed such suspect motives into virtuous acts. It was rather suspicious.

"Remember, you promised to show us the beauty of Karlsland cuisine! I'm looking forward to it." Jackie reminded Eva. The Karlslander dropped the spanner she was holding and blushed off to the side. Jean took heart in the fact that, really, no one was perfect. She was just starting to get to know enough about Eva to understand the girl's weaknesses and annoyances. Eva caught Jean looking at her, and Jean looked away, pretending to be just looking around the room.

In another corner Briskie was spooning food into Clark's mouth while she worked, as one would a baby. Clark reveled in the attention, and nudged Briskie with her shoulder. Kitty took her meal atop a pull-out shelf closest to Jean.

"Guess you were right." Kitty said offhand.

"About?"

"Luck, I s'pose."

"I don't see how I'm right. It could've gone either way. We were lucky."

"Eh, I'm not so sure. I don't think you guys would give up if you failed at one thing or another, or if it seemed like you were gonna. A regular nobody like me looks at someone like you and says, hey, she's _lucky_. But that's selling you short. You're giving everything you 'ave. More than you 'ave, it seems."

"Because we _have_ to. You think you know your limit, and then one day it's not good enough. That's the thing about doing your best... your _best_ is painful and difficult. It's much easier to stop short and tell yourself you couldn't go further."

"So what was the reason you told me that stuff?"

"If you walked, a part of you would never let you forget it. I didn't want to see that happen to you. We didn't save you from one abyss to see you fall into another."

"We need a unit patch!" Miki said, looking up from her bowl and clenching her fist. She was curiously intense on the point, as if it had to happen immediately.

"Oh, right. We do." Jean agreed, and then bit down on her thumb pensively. Art and design weren't exactly things she knew about. Then again, judging from the charming amateurishness of many unit patches, she was not alone in this.

"How about six tridents and a broomstick?" Clark said.

They had Miki, who turned out to be the best artist among them, paint out a rendition of their unit patch on a bedsheet. The outer ring contained their formal name of Escort Group 7 written along the top in block letters, and "Lucky 7" across the bottom. Inside there were six tridents in three rows on a field of dark blue, and above was a single broomstick on a plane of light blue. They hung it up in the Striker bay and stood before it.

"We may die," Eva said, "_but_,"

"For Gallia!" Jackie yelled.

"For honor!" Miki followed excitedly.

"For right!" Clark said.

"For everyone." Briskie said.

"For redemption." Kitty said.

"For love." Eva said.

"For 7!" Jean said.

#

Prien couldn't say for how long she fell. It was a few minutes, or hours, or a hundred years. The darkness drew in closer and closer around her until she couldn't even see the nose on her face. There were even circling sharks, attracted to the scent of her blood. They dare not approach her, though, until she was dead. She liked that about sharks. They lived honest lives. That's why humans hated them. When a person looked at a shark they saw the purity of nature that was at work deep within themselves, under layers of petty rationalizations, and of course it revolted them. None of that was the fault of the shark.

She rolled over and gripped the knife in her back. Had it missed her vital organs? The wound in her leg-hadn't it also missed her femoral artery? The latter was definitely true, since if her femoral had been severed she would not have had the luxury of escape. She pulled the knife free and let it fall away.

Her Neuroi body began to paper over the damage to her skin. Even if she was not fully healed, there was no more effusion of blood being lost to the saltwater. She was still too tired to do anything else, and continued to sink into the cold and pitch black depths.

Eventually she contacted with the pelagic sediment of the ocean floor, and ran her hands through the silty material. She couldn't even see her hand from where she was, and yet she knew it was there. There was nothing left to do but go to sleep.

She dreamed of grand things-of the dinosaurs shivering and dying in the impact winter, of the ancestors of humans savagely beating each other with ever superior tools. When she awoke it was with the renewed conviction that there was nothing that mattered but this existential competition. Superior species displaced inferior species. It was the way of things. That there were superior and inferior races of mankind now seemed to her a distinction between ants. All of them were now subject to her-yes, _her_ kind. Her pet Neuroi, a Q-class she had named Quisling, was close at hand, flitting about with all its strange limbs. They didn't speak to her-perhaps they didn't speak or think as she did-but she knew their wishes all the same. Perhaps someday she would come to understand their beauty more fully, after humanity had been vanquished.

If the Neuroi were going to win the Battle of the Atlantic, it all hinged on this-on her. Their stale tactics had made a hunting ground of the once-fearsome Neuroi presence in the Atlantic. Prien could change all of that immediately. If the Atlantic Colony accorded real power to her, she could annihilate the Nereids and turn their precious doctrines against them.

Her body had completely healed itself and she ran close over the pitch-black depths of the ocean floor. She was going to create a Capital-class vessel, and technically the material could come from anywhere. But she had something specific in mind, necessitating a long search of hours. Though she made use of the floodlights embedded in her U-Striker, she also had a curious sense of what lay beyond. It was almost tactile, like there was a wind going out from her in all directions and she felt when it ran into a surface. In time she would master this additional sense.

Complete Neuroification of her intended target, large and ravaged by time and pressure, would take about four days. That was enough time to assemble a larger force. Then heroism would curdle into foolishness and all of humanity would know her name.

Prien rounded a rippling dune of ocean sand and finally gazed upon the wreckage of the _Titanic._


	12. Appendix A - NITV Executive Summary

Appendix A: Nereid Initiative Executive Summary

What follows is a summary prepared by the joint **Nereid Initiative** for the executives of the governments of the world which provide the bulk of its funding.

**Nereids** are so named to set them apart from Sea Witches. **Sea Witches** are Witches who operate from carriers, catapult ships, or who operate predominately over water from bases on land or on islands. Nereids are young women aged from 12 to 20 who operate Submersible Strikers, and they are named for the saltwater nymphs of Greco-Roman myth. Their name rhymes with _myriad_. They are similar to their sister Witches in most ways, except that their familiars are aquatic. The Nereid Initiative, or NITV, does not employ any prepubescents and, given the demonstrated fatality rate, endeavors not to recruit any girl with living parents. The large number of girls who became shipwrecked (and concurrently orphaned) following Drumbeat provided most of the initial stock. It is also possible to intentionally create a Nereid via contact experiments with various species of dolphins in the wild, though this is laborious and by no means a rich supply.

95% of Nereid **familiars** are Cetaceans, mostly the various species of dolphins, with the balance of the remaining 5% being other marine mammals. A handful of Nereids have been identified who have managed to pair with other aquatic animals, such as fish or reptiles. When a Nereid manifests their familiar, they take on skin-tone versions of the animal's coloration and natural camouflage, usually some form of counter-shading.

Unfortunately due to circumstances which are outside of the control of the NITV, many Nereids exhibit **character flaws **which are undesirable for girls in their age range. Though every sort of counseling, medication, and punishment regimes have been attempted, so far no solution has posed itself. Fortunately this has not proved to be a bar against high performance. Indeed many of the highest performing veterans are also the least marketable. It is believed this is a mental strain resulting from the extreme conditions in which they operate. The long term effects, if any, of exposure to *REDACTED* have not yet been established.

The purpose of pointing this out is to justify the continuing expense of luxury outlays which have caused many who are not aware of the situation to balk. Group programs such as communal baths and volleyball have so far been a significant deterrent against mental depreciation. Five-star accommodations have also been helpful. Recall these are not Spartan warriors, but rather, young women. The absence of material comforts has been shown to strengthen a male soldier against hardship. It has been long observed to be the opposite for Witches and the same holds true for their aquatic sisters.

Most of them can hold their breath for around 2 hours, though under combat conditions the time period they can remain underwater narrows. At peak activity a typical individual has about twenty minutes underwater. Rarely, a Nereid can remain underwater indefinitely due to an innate ability, but they are still limited by the battery power of their particular U-Striker to remain combat effective.

**Submersible Strikers**, also called **U-Strikers**, can operate underwater on battery power for about two hours. Above water most Sub Strikers enjoy over double the speed they do underwater, but must remain within about 15 feet of the surface. They are able to fly only by _ground effect_. In practice this restricts them to skating over the surface. Even particularly large waves must be negotiated carefully. Artful use of ground effect flight has been made overland by some Nereids, but they do not typically engage in land battles, and are indeed forbidden from doing so.

U-Strikers are about ten times faster than the submarines they are based on, both above and below the water. For example, if a Liberion Gato-class could go 9 knots underwater and 21 knots above, its U-Striker equivalent could do 90 kt and 210 kt. These speeds are necessary to fight similarly nimble underwater Neuroi.

As you are no doubt aware from the outlays of the program, each U-Striker represents a significant investment in technology and manpower, much more so than a Land Striker or Striker. Seldom are they lost without the loss of the Nereid attached to them. Due to the limited contact humans have with aquatic animals, the number of Nereids in general is an order of magnitude less than Witches. Why there are as many Nereids as there are is the greater mystery, but it has been speculated that it is an artifact of some 'decision,' or intuitive desire, dolphins have formed to combat the Neuroi. When a Nereid and her Striker are lost, both of these are felt as a nation might take note of the loss of a destroyer or even a light cruiser. The NITV is expensive, yes, but neither can its results be bought elsewhere for less.

The most powerful **weaponry** Nereids have access to are the torpedoes of their U-Strikers, which enjoy an equivalent speed boost over their major equivalents due to Nereid magic. A Sub Striker typically features one or two torpedo tubes on each leg, with spares being stored in pocket dimensions. The power of the magic engine on the Striker determines the number of torpedoes it can carry. Fuso and Karlsland have the most advanced torpedoes to date, but all participant nations have supplied torpedoes which are powerful weapons capable of inflicting mortal wounds to Neuroi when used properly.

Secondary weapons are 'portable' versions of the small anti-aircraft guns available to submarines. The Oerlikon 20mm fitted with a 100-round drum magazine is widely considered to be the gold standard in this space. Karlsland supplies its Nereids with a Flak 2cm, which is also effective in the same role. For both of these a 20mm supercavitating round has been developed by NITV, for which the maximum range is about 100m.

When all else fails each nation has provided for close quarters combat with knives. The pace of underwater combat calls for it much more often than elsewhere. NITV has a number of hard-won doctrines which make this less suicidal than it seems.

The **Neuroi** **Atlantic Colony**, or NAC,is the threat the Nereid Initiative was formed to fight. While it was known about before the calamitous Drumbeat Incident of September 1939, work on modern Sub Strikers was at that point in its infancy. As a result only Karlsland was capable of deploying immediately to combat the threat.

The threat the Colony poses is mainly to shipping from Liberion to Britannia. Even though it is aiding the strategic objectives of the Hives in Europe, there is no evidence of direct cooperation between them even in spite of the fact that such cooperation would be extremely advantageous. It can be hypothesized that an intelligent entity has seeded the Hives and the Colony to act in a synergistic fashion, but that these actors are not themselves intelligent. In either case, if the NAC achieves its objective of taking the Atlantic, the Hives will achieve their objective of taking over Europe. Since Drumbeat, only the sacrifice of many has prevented this from coming about.

The NAC is a master of mimicry, and it takes as its inspirations the things immediately available to it. In practice these are underwater creatures, although-in a strange symmetry, the NAC has never produced a Neuroi that resembles a Cetacean or other marine mammal. It takes its inspiration from deep-sea creatures, mostly predators, and has been known also to use material from shipwrecks of various ages.

The Atlantic Colony produces no flying Neuroi of its own, but it has produced Neuroi which can 'fly' in ground effect, perhaps having learned the trick from our own Nereids. It is not known to be working in concert with any Neuroi hives, but the existence of a second Colony somewhere in the Baltic has been extrapolated from data by Britannian mathematicians. This has been assigned the codename Relex. If extant, this colony is not yet a threat.

The only effective answer yet devised to the random attacks the NAC puts out are to organize our merchant shipping into convoys, and to form Nereid squadrons for the purposes of guarding these and to conduct wide-ranging patrols which may last for days. On paper this may not seem like much, but recall that the Nereids do not spend their days on a ship but are always rolling in the cold grip of the sea.

In **conclusion**, in spite of the glamour of the Strike Witches or the visibility of the Tank Witches, their materiel and the supplies of all forces in Europe would dry up without the sacrifices the Nereids are quietly making below the waves of the Atlantic. An unseen and desperate battle is being waged in the abyss, over a distant horizon, by the least popular and loneliest among our forces. Whether your budgets account for it or not, the war pivots on the performance of this small and ill-starred band of sisters.


	13. Appendix B - Corrections to Part 1

Appendix B: Corrigenda

Dear Readers,

Thanks for reading Part 1! Part 2 is scheduled for release in its entirety in early October, depending on how my other project progresses.

Part 2 will conclude the story. The reason for the long period of time between now and the release of Part 2 is that I have other deadlines to meet.

I wound up changing some things which you might've missed if you were reading along. Part 2 will be released in a single drop to hopefully prevent these sorts of quality control issues.

Just for the record, here's the list of significant changes from the initial versions to the one you see now.

-The title was changed from "Atlantic Battle" to "Aces of the Deep." It was originally titled "Aces of the Deep" anyway, since that's the genesis of the idea, but I thought it was too comprehensive a title given that I wasn't really executing an origin story but rather beginning in medias res and focusing on a single incident. The weakness of "Atlantic Battle" eventually grated on me and I went back.

-A prologue was added to better introduce the main character, the tone, and the world of the work.

-A bunch of chapters were merged and many short chapter breaks were eliminated. The story started as a writing exercise which I hoped to finish in a month, but wound up being bigger and more complicated than expected. But, isn't everything.

-Jean's hair, complexion, and familiar had to be changed upon my reading more of Eugene Fluckey's memoir, "Thunder Below!" and finding out that he was a freckled redhead. I love redheads, which is why there were two of them in already. What was once a clear-skinned blonde with a bottlenose dolphin familiar became a freckled redhead with a spotted dolphin familiar.

-Briskie's hair changed to blonde, because three gingers is too many. Her eye color was also changed to hazel for similar reasons, and Clark's eye color to gray.

-Jean no longer has sex with Miki aboard _Normandie_, but turns her down. Even though Nereids aren't strangers to doing it when/wherever, Miki was too aggressive and Jean wasn't in character either.

-Jean punching Prien was revised somewhat to make Jean seem more in control. She no longer needs to be restrained and stops after Prien goes down, both of which are more in keeping with her character.

-Prien's motives for attacking Clark were made clearer in a brief segment where she is interrogated by Eva, which was not in the original chapter.

-The entire segment of Jean reflecting on why she attacked a land Neuroi was removed. It may or may not be revisited, depending on if there is an appropriate moment.

-Some other needlessly dark musings were cut from the first two chapters. Jean's internal monologue was understandably morose, but it didn't fit the overall tone.

-Many errors of grammar and spelling were corrected, and some arbitrary changes made to sentences that didn't change their meaning.

That's it. I'll see you all in October!

Faithfully yours,

DE


End file.
